


Don't Let Me Drown on Dry Land

by tryslora



Series: It's Hard to Move Through Water [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Stiles for that one), Almost Caught, Anal Fingering, Bisexual Jackson Whittemore, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Biting, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Consent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Danny Mahealani is Jackson's Alpha, Danny Mahealani is Part of the Pack, Dog Jokes, First Kiss, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hospitals, Hunters & Hunting, Injury, Jackson Comes Back, Jackson Helps Stiles, Jealousy, Lacrosse, Liam is a Tiny Ball of Fury, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Malia Tate & Jackson Whittemore are Siblings, Marking, Mason Thinks Everything is INTENSE, Mason and Liam are Cousins, Masturbation, McCall Pack, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Pack Negotiations, Pack Politics, Panic Attacks, Peter Hale is Jackson Whittemore's Parent, Peter Hale is Malia Tate's Parent, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Display of Affection, Relationship Negotiation, Rough Sex, Self-Destruction, Sharing a Bed, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, The Hale Pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 85,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Jackson's officially back in Beacon Hills. He's back to school, back to lacrosse, back to the pack. He's got a new boyfriend and is finally able to relax into just being himself. However, he's also trying to deal with the possibility that Malia is his sister and Peter his father, and he's trying to help Stiles get through the aftermath of the Nogitsune. Add in another pack in Beacon Hills, complications and confusion in his relationships, and something that's trying to kill people... life isn't so simple after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to _First You Have to Paddle Like a Pup_ , a story of how Jackson spent season 3 in Beacon Hills (not London). You don't necessarily have to read that book first, but this one would make more sense with it.
> 
> I'm rushing to get this up because the first chapter of this book is also a coda to the first book. I will be adding more tags later, as I review all the parts ready for publication so far. This book should be 21 chapters, of which the first 15 (61k) are already written. It will post weekly, although that schedule might speed up once the last six chapters are finalized. It's been a long road since this story started, and I'm very much looking forward to taking the final turns through Jackson's story. I hope you enjoy the ride.

It’s almost easy to fall back into the routine of high school after Jackson returns. He hasn’t missed that much time, and while he has a lot of work to catch up on, he slots back into the social life easily. No one questions his sudden appearance, and if they want to ask why he’s still hanging out with Lydia when they’re obviously not together, no one is brave enough to do so. The social groups have all shifted, a strange amoeba made up of people from the McCall pack and Jackson’s group, with the bare remains of the Hale pack.

Socially, Jackson reclaims his position with a sharp look and a glare at anyone who dares to ask what happened to his Porsche. Rumors abound about his whereabouts over the missing months, most of them whispering that he totaled his beloved Porsche and was sent to rehab. Jackson doesn’t dignify any of them with answers.

The work, however, is a pain in the ass.

He works hard with Danny most evenings, but while he can catch up, Malia is still struggling. She enjoys reading, but hates analysis for English class. She remembers information easily, and history turns out to be a simple class, but math… math eludes her.

Which is why twice a week, Jackson and Lydia work with Malia at her place, trying to finish the tutoring session before Mr. Tate gets home from work.

“Your dad still doesn’t like me,” Jackson mutters, flipping through the book, trying to find the page with tonight’s homework. Lydia’s in advanced calculus, but he has trig homework, and Malia is struggling with algebra.

“He thinks we’re having sex.” Malia’s words are matter-of-fact, underlined by the scratch of her pencil across paper. She stops, frowns at the numbers, and erases something. “He doesn’t know that you want to have sex with Danny, and I didn’t think you wanted me to tell him.”

“Malia.”

Lydia’s soft statement comes at the same time as Jackson glares at Malia. It doesn’t accomplish anything—it never does. His packmate will never be cowed. But Malia looks at Lydia instead, and raises her eyebrows.

Lydia sighs. “Are you ever going to tell him, Jackson? Because frankly, if you continue to pine after him, even Scott and Stiles are going to notice. If they haven’t noticed already.”

This is not what he wants to talk about this afternoon. Jackson reaches into his bag, digs for a piece of paper and lays it out, labeling it with his name and readying it for trig. “There’s nothing to tell him,” he grumbles.

“You smell like want and sadness every time you look at him,” Malia says plainly. She sets her pencil down, shoves the book away. “And when you smile at him, it’s like sunshine. It’s obvious that you like him.”

“She’s not wrong, Jackson.” Lydia presses her lips together, and Jackson catches the tension lining her shoulders before she visibly relaxes. “I’m not bothered by it, if you think I am.”

“I don’t want to fuck things up.” Jackson sets his pencil down, scrubs a hand across his face. “We’re best friends.”

“You sleep in the same bed,” Lydia points out.

“And you smell like sex already and so does he,” Malia adds with a grin. “He’s your Alpha, so that worries you, but I think it would be fine.” She raises a finger, careful to point out, “He’s not _my_ Alpha. He’s yours. Packs are complicated.”

Lydia lifts a hand in a clear _hold that thought_ gesture. “Jackson, you’ve been half in love with him for months. Do something about it. If you don’t, and he finds another Brandon or Ethan, that is all on you. He isn’t dating anyone. He hasn’t looked at anyone. When he’s free, he’s with you. Take that as a clear indicator of interest and do something before you lose your chance.”

Jackson opens his mouth, and Lydia shushes him with a hand over his mouth.

“Do not say you will fuck it up,” she tells him. “Because if you do _not_ take a chance, you will fuck things up worse.”

Jackson slumps back in his chair, arms crossed. “Fine. I’ll think about it. Just don’t bug me about it and let me deal with shit on my own time.” Because he’s not ready to rush into this. Lydia may think it’s going to be easy, but Jackson knows better. Danny came out to Jackson when they were thirteen, and Danny’s first words were _don’t worry, you’re not my type_. And frankly, Danny deserves better than Jackson. Right now Jackson is just trying to be a better best friend and packmate.

“I’ll accept that.” Lydia gathers up the math books, pushes them to one side. “We have more important things to deal with than Jackson’s sex life, anyway. We need to do something about the pack situation in Beacon Hills.” She looks between Jackson and Malia. “The two of you have further complicated a situation that was already complicated to begin with. Jackson, who do you consider your pack?”

That one’s easy. “You, Danny, Malia, and me.”

“Danny’s his Alpha,” Malia points out again. “But not mine.”

“Then who’s your Alpha?” Lydia asks the questions and Malia’s brow furrows deeply. It’s a valid question, and Jackson isn’t sure what he thinks the answer should be. Obviously Malia doesn’t either, as she shakes her head.

“I don’t have one,” she says. “My pack is people from other packs. Jackson. Danny, I guess. Stiles. Maybe Scott.” She flashes a bright grin at Lydia. “You. Even though you’re trying to make me learn math.”

“I don’t expect you to be a superstar mathematician, but I would like you to be able to count change,” Lydia says dryly.

Malia snorts. “I learned that when I was still human. I wasn’t a baby when I changed into a coyote. I do have some fundamental skills. They’re just rusty. It’s not like the hikers were sitting down and attempting to teach me what variables were. I don’t even understand why we’re bothering with math that includes letters.”

Valid statement, and Jackson does not want to see this argument start again. It’s become familiar over recent weeks.

He taps on the table. “Packs, not math. Lydia, who’s in your pack?”

The corners of her lips turn up. “It’s interesting how you phrase it,” Lydia says. “As if the packs are from our perspective, not the Alpha’s perspective. I suppose I consider all of you pack. Except Peter. He will never be my packmate.” She shudders delicately. “I can’t even imagine dealing with him on a regular basis.”

“If we merge packs, we will have to deal with him,” Malia says, stopping abruptly when Jackson and Lydia look at her. “What? That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it? We have three packs, and we should be one pack. It’ll make us look bigger and less complicated. We want to look big and strong if we’re going to survive. Protect the weaker members, like Kira.”

“Kira isn’t weak,” Lydia objects.

Malia gives her a dark look. “I could break Kira in half, and she smells funny.” Malia wrinkles her nose. “Now that I have claws again, I’m stronger than her. And Derek’s broken; he needs protecting. So does Stiles. And Scott doesn’t know what he’s doing. And Isaac’s heart is broken. I think everyone needs protection.”

“Or we all need to work together to protect each other,” Lydia muses. “You’re probably right. We should draw out pack lines, and officially ally or merge. Frankly, we should also make sure we’re already working with all the packs in Beacon Hills. It’s disturbing how Scott didn’t recognize the Alpha pack when they arrived, and it worries me that no one noticed you in plain sight, Jackson. What if there are more?”

“Slow down.” There are days when working with the girls quickly leaves Jackson behind when the conversation turns to other topics. “If we merge packs, who becomes the Alpha?” When Lydia arches one eyebrow, Jackson raises his hands. “No. Hell no. I am not going to bow down to Scott McCall if we name him some kind of uber Alpha of all the packs.”

“I like Scott,” Malia muses. “He’s kind, but not weak. He doesn’t need to kill; he has us. We’d make sure no one is too weak.”

“Just… no.” Jackson doesn’t want to think about it. McCall’s not bad. He can deal with him. He doesn’t like being co-captains but he will deal with that, too. But this? No.

“You could be an Alpha,” Malia points out. “It’s easy. You just need to…” Her voice trails off, and she looks between Jackson and Lydia. “Why do you smell like that?”

“Jackson is not finding an Alpha to kill in order to become one,” Lydia says quietly.

“For the good of the pack! Or he could be a True Alpha like Scott.” Malia shrugs. “It can’t be that hard if Scott did it.”

Jackson fails at swallowing his laugh. The sound falls away as he hears a car door slam. “Shit, your dad’s home already.”

“Lydia’s here. He’s not going to think we’re doing anything now. But you should definitely go.” Malia leans close to confide, “Last time he took out his gun after you left and cleaned it. For an hour. It smelled terrible.”

“Let’s not instigate anything.” Lydia tugs at Jackson and they stand together, quickly packing. They’re at the door by the time Tate comes in. Jackson manages a polite greeting on his way through, before they both climb into Lydia’s car.

She lets him sit quietly for half the drive home. She pulls up at a stop sign and puts her flashers on, putting the car in park. There’s a honk from behind them, and she sticks her hand out the window, waves the person on. “So. Have you told her?”

Shit. Not this. It’s too big a topic and Jackson’s been delaying talking to Malia about the tiny, small, microscopic issue that Tate is probably not her biological father. Not to mention the idea that she might be Jackson’s sister, and Peter might be their father. Jackson huffs a sigh. “No. Not yet.”

“Why?” Lydia purses her lips, looks at her nails as if she wished they were claws. Jackson is relieved that Banshees don’t seem to have any kind of violent abilities, because she smells irritable. “Jackson, you wanted to be the one to tell her, but that means you have to tell her. Stop delaying.”

“I will. I just haven’t figured out how to bring it up.” Jackson crosses his arms, as if that offers any kind of shield against her anger. “It’s awkward. She’s just getting settled in with her dad and now I’m going to tell her that he’s not her dad after all. I don’t want to screw things up for her.”

“So you haven’t talked to Malia, and you haven’t talked to Danny. What have you done, Jackson?”

The funny thing is, he actually has an answer for that one, and it’s even a good one. “I’ve been talking to Stiles at night about PTSD.” He smiles slightly, because he figures that Lydia will approve of this. “He can’t sleep, and it’s not like anyone but us has a perspective on what it’s like to be possessed and used to kill people. So we talk sometimes.”

Lydia’s swift grumble might put a werewolf to shame. She throws the car into drive and pulls into the intersection, turning left onto Danny’s street. “You are an idiot, Jackson. What does Danny think about that?”

“Why would Danny even care?” Because apparently the one attempt Jackson has made to bridge the distance between the packs is not getting the Lydia stamp of approval. “This is after he’s asleep. Stiles texts, and I answer, and we talk until he’s tired enough that he can sleep. It’s not bothering Danny at all.”

Lydia turns the car abruptly into Danny’s driveway, stopping on a dime. The back door opens, and Danny peers out, both eyebrows raised when he sees Lydia and Jackson.

She crooks her finger, and Jackson leans in a little closer so he can hear her whisper.

“None of this is difficult,” Lydia says softly. “Talk to Malia. Talk to Danny. All you need to do is open up your mouth and let the words come out. If you can find the words to actually talk to Stiles without the two of you trying to kill each other, I am very certain you can find the words to talk to your packmate and possible sister, and I am even more certain that you have the words to explain how you feel to Danny. You are not going to lose him, Jackson.”

“You don’t know that,” Jackson says. He grabs his bag and ducks out of the car, slamming the door behind him before she can get the last word in. She’s still talking, but the window’s up and he doesn’t try to listen. He could probably hear her if he tried, but there’s no point. Instead he raises one hand, wiggles his fingers in farewell, then turns his back on her to go inside with Danny.

#

After dinner, Jackson and Danny head over to the school to get some practice in before lacrosse tryouts the next day. Jackson pulls in next to a familiar blue Jeep that looks worse for wear. He ignores the Jeep, reaching into his trunk to pull out gear, tossing half of it to Danny before they walk to the field.

Stiles and Scott have taken over the goal at one end of the field, so Danny and Jackson make their way to the opposite end. They get set up, start out with Jackson tossing the ball at the goal while Danny defends. Jackson isn’t really trying too hard, and Danny manages to block each attempt easily. Jackson drops the balls in a line on the ground and scoops them up, cradling them before sending them flying. He manages to go through the line up twice before Danny holds onto the final ball, the rest in a pile off to one side, and refuses to give them back to Jackson.

“I thought we were here to practice.” Danny tosses the one ball to Jackson. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting anywhere with this.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Jackson gets the stick up just in time to catch another ball that Danny sends flying at him. “What? I’m a werewolf. I’m moving at a faster speed, with more strength, and I don’t want to hit you.”

“Doesn’t look like Scott’s worrying about hurting Stiles.” Danny gestures with his stick. Jackson can hear the breathing behind him, even across the length of the field. He turns slowly, and Stiles is running back and forth, trying to block the shots Scott’s firing at the net. Jackson’s pretty damned sure that Scott’s not moving at full speed—he doesn’t look like he’s gone half-wolf anyway—but he’s still going faster and harder than a human would.

There’s a tap to Jackson’s cheek from Danny’s stick. “Are you really going to treat me like I’m more delicate than Stiles?” Danny says dryly.

It’s a challenge, and with a huff, Jackson takes it. He lays out the balls in a row, and this time he steps the speed up, finding the pace that’s just at the edge of Danny’s ability. He keeps that pace as they get going, trying to see how much he can push his own body now, and loving the feel of the stick in his hand, of moving in this familiar way. He pauses when Danny looks like he needs a breather, tosses him one of the bottles of water that they brought before he drains a bottle of his own.

At the other end of the field it looks like Stiles and Scott are taking a break as well. Jackson can hear the swift beat of Stiles’s heart, and hopes Scott’s giving him a break rather than trying to kill him with too much exercise.

When he looks back, Danny’s watching him.

“What?”

Danny looks away. He tilts his head back, drains the rest of his bottle and tosses the empty to one side. “Nothing.”

It’s not nothing. There’s a fresh tension in the air, sharp like ozone, rising between them.

 _Just talk to him_.

It’s not that easy. No matter what Lydia says, it’s not that simple. But this isn’t good, either, this stiff way that Danny’s walking away from him, taking up his position in goal again. And fuck it, that means Jackson needs to do something. Say something.

He follows Danny, because this is not something he’s going to shout across the field. “Does it bother you?” Jackson asks.

“Does what bother me?” Danny rises up from the crouch he’d sunk into, gaze narrowing as Jackson approaches. “Are we done practicing?”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “We’ll get back to practicing. Just answer the question: does it bother you when I talk to Stiles at night after you fall asleep?”

Danny’s gaze shifts, looking past Jackson. “Sometimes you wake me up.”

It’s funny how Danny doesn’t say _is that what you’ve been doing_ or _is that who you’ve been talking to_. It’s like he’s known all along, and of course, he probably has. Jackson doesn’t bother to lock his phone when he heads out to shower, and messages have probably popped up when Danny was looking.

Jackson wasn’t exactly trying to keep it a secret.

“I was trying not to wake you up.” That’s not it, Jackson’s sure of it. “Do you want me to stop?”

Danny just looks at him. “Look, you’re being supportive of Stilinski. I get that, and it’s a good thing. It’s not like he doesn’t already have a best friend to talk to, or Lydia.”

“We’ve been through similar things,” Jackson protests.

“I know, but maybe you should move to your own room if you’re going to stay up late talking.” Danny’s voice is flat. “So you don’t wake me up. Because waking up to realize that the guy next to me in bed is busy talking to someone else isn’t the greatest feeling in the world, Jackson.”

Oh. Well… oh.

Jackson sucks with words, but actions are simpler. Easier. They have consequences potentially, but he can handle that. He takes another step toward Danny, mutters, “You don’t have anything to worry about,” and manages to get his hands on Danny’s shoulders before Danny looks him in the eye.

Danny doesn’t blink, just waits for Jackson to close the distance, pulling Danny down to Jackson’s level so he can manage to fit their lips together. Is this how fucking awkward it was for Lydia as the short one in the relationship? It’s easier once Danny’s palm fits behind the nape of Jackson’s neck, supporting him and finding the collar, fingers curled around it to hold on and tug until Jackson sighs against Danny’s mouth.

He doesn’t mean it as an invitation, but Danny takes it as one, deepening the kiss and teasing his way into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson has a moment for the fleeting thought that hell yes, Danny is the Alpha, because Jackson’s letting Danny hold him up, support him through this knee-weakening kiss, and he has no problem giving over that control. He’s fine with letting Danny be the one to decide how deep, how long, how much.

When the kiss breaks, Danny’s palm presses against Jackson’s cheek for a moment, then he steps back out of the way quickly as something thuds into Jackson’s back.

Jackson spins with a growl, as Scott lowers his stick and Stiles’s heart rate skips wildly, stuttering before he raises a hand slowly. Jackson curls his lip, snarls loud enough to echo across the field, and Stiles takes a step back, hand moving to point to Scott before dropping back to his side. Scott reaches out to grab Stiles’s shoulder, and the two head off the field.

Danny, of course, snickers. “That news will be all over school in an hour,” he points out idly.

“If anyone listens to them.” Jackson’s not sure Stiles would bother telling anyone. McCall—hell, Scott will tell Kira, who’ll mention it to Lydia, and it’ll be back to Malia by the time Jackson and Danny head home. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?” Danny scoops up one of the balls, cradles it, his stick slowly swinging.

“They’re all going to see a repeat performance at school, right?” Jackson stalks a step closer to Danny, winds one hand up to the back of his neck. “Because if we’re doing this, everyone is going to know that you’re taken.”

“You are not going to piss on me to mark your territory.” Danny lets himself be tugged down until they stand there, forehead to forehead.

Jackson smirks. “Trust me, I have much better ways of doing that. And you already marked yours.”

Danny’s laugh vibrates between them, swallowed when Jackson manages to press his lips to Danny’s again. He feels the touch at his neck, the light tug on the collar, and Jackson knows that Danny understands exactly what he’s saying.

And yeah, maybe Jackson should think about the consequences. Maybe he should think about the fact that they just drove Scott and Stiles away, or the fact that people will be talking tomorrow. But fuck it, because none of that matters right now.

Right now he’s just going to focus on kissing Danny.


	2. Chapter 2

First rule of sleepovers: don’t mention the morningwood.

Jackson wakes up naked and hard, Danny’s arm wrapped around his middle, Jackson’s ass pressed back against Danny’s hips. Danny’s lips press to the skin at the back of his neck, and Jackson tilts his head, makes a soft pleased sound. There’s a rub of fabric from Danny’s sweats against Jackson’s skin, and it feels slow and deliberate and fuck, it’s arousing.

Jackson turns in Danny’s arms and kisses him because he can, because this is their thing now. It’s slow and Danny makes a face from morning breath, but honestly, Jackson doesn’t give a fuck. When Danny goes to pull away, Jackson threads his fingers through his hair, throws a leg over Danny and tugs him close, waits for him to acquiesce before fitting them hip to hip as Jackson kisses him again. After all the time it took Jackson to say something, it seems so easy now, not even twelve hours after their first kiss. Jackson hitches his hips; Danny groans.

So, maybe they can mention the morningwood after all.

Danny’s hands slide down Jackson’s back and fit to the curve of his ass, drawing him closer. Even with Danny still wearing sweats, Jackson can feel the hard ridge of his dick, and he ruts up against it, testing the way it feels. Good. It feels really good.

“We have to get up,” Danny murmurs, mouthing at Jackson’s neck, sucking at the skin just above his collar. If Jackson thought fingers felt good there, stroking him, Danny’s mouth is better. Much better.

Jackson whines softly, tilts his head to bare his neck for Danny. “M’already up,” he mutters. “Want to get off instead.”

Danny’s hands go tight on Jackson’s ass, and he falls backwards, dragging Jackson with him. Jackson ends up straddling Danny, hips pressing roughly down as Danny lifts up, pressing against him, and _oh shit_ , it is not going to take long. Jackson bites off a groan, buries his face against the crook of Danny’s shoulder, kissing, nipping, sucking a mark there as he rotates his hips, half desperate to find release.

There’s a knock.

Danny pushes, and Jackson rolls sideways, hitting the floor with a thump, the comforter landing on top of him before Danny twists onto his side, curls up with the blankets bunched around his crotch. Jackson just barely has time to slip into his wolf’s skin and peer out from under the comforter before the door pushes open.

“I heard your alarm,” Danny’s mother says, tone dry. “At least one of you should already be in the shower. Are you planning on going to school, Jackson, or are you returning to the woods?”

Jackson whuffs and grumbles, while Danny stretches and sits up, the blankets across his lap.

“I’m up,” Danny mutters. “I’ll get in the shower first while the blanket hog cleans this mess up.”

His mother hovers, hesitates a moment in the doorway. “Anything I say is going to fall on deaf ears,” she finally says quietly. “So I will just say be safe, and plan better.”

The door closes, and Jackson is abruptly human, sitting cross-legged, his head in his hands. “Is she going to make me move back to the guest room?”

Danny slides out of bed, his cock still hard and tenting his sweats. Jackson can see a dot of wet, and can smell the musk of his arousal. There’s a part of him that wants to shove his face in close to Danny’s crotch, inhale the scent of his want and lick at his skin.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks, and scrubs at his face. Sex with Lydia wasn’t anything like this. He wonders if it’s the wolf that makes him feel like he needs more, or if it’s just Danny himself.

“I think she just wants us to give her plausible deniability.” Danny pulls out a shirt and jeans, throws them on the bed with a clean pair of boxers. “Remember when I was thirteen and first figured out how to jack off? She gave me a safe sex talk, a box of condoms, six boxes of tissues, and a lesson on how to do laundry because she refused to wash the socks I’d been using to clean up. She just doesn’t want to think about the fact that we might be doing anything.” Danny glances over at Jackson, smiles softly. “Besides. She knows you’re a stubborn asshole and you’ll just end up back in here anyway. Can’t house train you.”

“No dog jokes.” Jackson grabs a pillow, tosses it at Danny before he climbs back into bed. He lies there on top of the covers, his own cock still erect and leaking slightly against his belly. He strokes himself once, watches the way that Danny’s gaze tracks his fingers, and it’s a fucking heady feeling to know that Danny wants him as much as Jackson needs him. He laughs when Danny throws the blankets over him. “Go shower and deal with things,” Jackson tells him. “I’ll shower when you’re done.”

It doesn’t take long for Jackson to take care of his own problem, maybe two strokes after Danny closes the door and is gone. Jackson just has to think about the way it felt to be grinding down against Danny and he’s coming in his fist, thick spurts shooting across his chest.

He lies there and closes his eyes, listening to the water running in the bathroom down the hall and imagining that he can hear Danny doing the same damned thing in the shower. Next time they’ll manage it. Next time they can find some privacy and take their time. Figure this shit out.

It hadn’t felt urgent last night, when they got home after lacrosse practice. They’d climbed into bed and spent maybe an hour just making out idly before Jackson shifted into Kula and curled up next to Danny’s solid warmth. But now… now Jackson wants more. He’s had just the smallest taste, and it isn’t enough.

He grabs the tissues and cleans up quickly, perfectly happy to leave some of his scent behind on the sheets. He pulls on boxers so he can get to the shower without embarrassing anyone, then picks up his phone.

The light is flashing a reminder that he has missed messages, and when he touches the screen to unlock it, he sees a trail of messages from the night before, ending in the wee hours of the morning with _I get it, you’re busy, sorry to keep bugging you, I just… fuck it…_ and then there’s nothing more.

Stiles. Shit.

Jackson unlocks the phone and scrolls back, finds the first message from eleven the night before.

_Can’t sleep. Tried, but I had this fucking dream about Scott’s blood. Blood smells. You know that, right? Blood smells._

It goes on like that, messages on and off over the next few hours until the final messages at two o’clock in the morning when Stiles gave up. Jackson reads every single message and he feels like shit for not being there like he’d promised.

The door opens, and Jackson doesn’t move, just sits there cross-legged on the bed, his phone cradled in his hands, blank after locking several minutes ago. There’s a pause, then the door clicks closed again. A hand slides down his back before Danny settles on the bed next to him.

Jackson tosses the phone on the bed. “If I talk to Stiles at night, I make you feel like shit. If I don’t, I break the promise I made to help him through the aftermath. I’m fucked either way.”

Danny presses his leg against Jackson’s with steady pressure. “You know I was jealous, right?”

Jackson clenches his jaw, the muscle in the corner going taut. He nods once.

“Just like you were jealous about Brandon and Ethan.” Danny’s voice is still low and careful. “You know that now, right?” A small nudge. “I know you like to think you’re an emotionless bastard, but I get the feeling that most of the time you feel too much, Jackson. You’re allowed to talk about your feelings.”

“If I do are you going to be able to tell me why I’m torn between feeling like everything’s fucking perfect and like I fucked everything up all at once?” Jackson turns to look at Danny, eyes closing when Danny leans in, kisses him slowly.

“We’re doing this, right?” Danny asks, and Jackson nods, because fuck yes, they are doing this. Whatever this turns out to be. “Then it’s fine. Talk to Stiles. See if you can help him, and maybe he’ll help you, too.”

There’s a yell from the kitchen, and Jackson winces. “Breakfast.”

“I heard. I don’t need supernatural hearing when my mom is pissed off because we’re not moving fast enough,” Danny says dryly. “Go take a shower. Talk to Stiles at school or something. But it’s fine. We’re good.”

Jackson grabs his phone to take with him so he can send off a quick text. “You were seriously jealous of Stilinski. You thought I was interested in him?” He raises an eyebrow, because that’s idiotic.

And Danny just laughs, which makes Jackson scowl at him. “Jackson, you like strong personalities,” Danny tells him, shoving him toward the door. “Stiles is totally your type.”

“You like assholes. Maybe he’s your type.” As a retort, it doesn’t make any sense, and Jackson grumbles when Danny laughs again.

“Sure, maybe he could be, but I’ve got you. And I didn’t take him up on the offer of his virginity, did I?” Danny pushes him again. “Shower. Before Mom comes up to drag us down for breakfast. Or worse, before she sends Dad.”

Jackson heads to the bathroom, closes himself in and leans against the sink while he waits for the water running in the shower to heat up. He opens the message stream from Stiles, hovers over the phone with his thumbs and tries to think how to reply.

_Sorry. Yeah, I was busy. It’s new, and I actually ended up sleeping. Guess Danny’s right about the company thing helping. We’ll talk again tonight when you can’t sleep. I promise._

The text comes back quickly, and Jackson hopes Stiles isn’t typing while driving. _Don’t make promises you can’t keep_.

He doesn’t hesitate before sending back, _don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise_. He drops the phone on the edge of the sink and strips off his boxers, climbs in the shower and tries to get himself ready for the day.

#

Malia catches up with Jackson in the hall, sliding in close and bumping his hip. She sniffs at him, and Jackson growls softly. “Subtle,” he mutters, and she smirks.

“You reek. It’s good,” she says. “But that’s not why I’m here. Lydia told me you want to talk to me at lunch. So let’s go talk.”

Why thank you, Lydia. “Of course she did. Fine.” Jackson moves a little closer, herds Malia into the lunchroom and over to the usual table for the pack. His backpack falls on the floor as he takes his seat, but he leaves his lunch where it is. They don’t have much time before the rest of the pack joins them, and he doesn’t want this to be public knowledge just yet. “Lydia’s been bugging me to tell you this for a while.”

Malia sits across from him and she has no problems pulling her lunch out while waiting for him to start talking. She opens the paper bag and lays out a pair of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, an apple, two granola bars, and three cookies. She considers a plastic tub filled with fruit, then puts it away. “Is it about Danny? Because you don’t need to tell me. I know you showered, but you still smell like him.”

“It’s not about Danny, but that happened too,” Jackson admits. “It’s about Peter.”

Malia’s eyes flash a bright blue, and Jackson swears he sees a hint of teeth in her quick snarl. “I don’t like Peter. He hurt Lydia.”

“Yeah, he’s got a great track record.” Jackson takes the granola bar that Malia presses into his hand, and slowly unwraps it. He breaks it, hands half back to her. “Apparently he also might be our father.”

Malia goes still, the granola bar half-raised in front of her. “He might be our what?”

Jackson reaches across the table, closes his fingers around her hand and lowers it carefully. He’s wary of claws, but they don’t seem to be appearing, which is good. Malia still can’t completely control when she transforms, and he doesn’t want a surprise appearance in the middle of the cafeteria. “Peter might be our father,” he says quietly, and he explains what Lydia told him, about the memory that Talia stole from Peter, and Lydia’s research. “We don’t have proof yet,” he says, “but Peter knows that you’re a possible option. And apparently I look like he did when he was a teenager.”

Malia cocks her head, brows furrowed deeply together. “So we might be siblings. I don’t mind that.”

“I don’t either. Peter’s part in it, on the other hand….”

She snorts. “I don’t like Peter,” she says again. “What do we need for proof? They use blood on TV shows. If he won’t give us some, I can get it from him anyway. I wouldn’t mind.”

Jackson feels the hand under his shift, and when he looks down, Malia’s claws are tapping against the table. She grins at the show of her inner coyote. At least it’s surprisingly subtle.

“I’d be very happy to get his blood,” she says.

“Whose blood are we getting?” Danny slides onto the bench next to Jackson, his knees pressing against Jackson’s under the table as he puts a chocolate pudding from his tray into the space in front of Jackson.

“Peter’s,” Malia says cheerfully. “Why, do you want to help?”

“We are not bleeding Peter.” Scott drops onto the bench next to Malia, while Stiles settles in on the other side of Jackson. “Not unless he does something to us.”

“He’s been quiet, lately, which either means he’s up to something, or we shouldn’t poke the sleeping beast,” Stiles says dryly. “Is that all you’re eating, Jackson? Because I’m pretty sure you need more than pudding.” He sets a ridiculously thick roast beef sandwich on the table, offers half to Jackson.

Jackson shoves the half a granola bar in his mouth, lets Malia take her hand back. She raises her eyebrows, which he interprets as _we’ll talk later_ , and he cocks one eyebrow in return. Stiles snorts next to him. “What?” Jackson asks, finally getting his own lunch out of his bag.

“You two.” Stiles gestures between Jackson and Malia. “Have you been spending time with Derek? You’re starting to speak eyebrow.”

Danny’s knee presses against Jackson’s again, and he realizes that Malia is staring at him, too. Jackson just rolls his eyes, nudges Stiles. “You’re just finally learning how to handle the subtleties of body language,” he says dryly. “Don’t stare too hard just because I’m pretty.”

“Can’t blame me for taking in the scenery,” Stiles quips, and somehow manages to shove a quarter of the sandwich in his mouth at once. It’s ridiculous, but at least it’s Stiles being Stiles and giving Jackson shit, like maybe he’s forgiven for being an ass the night before.

There’s movement on his other side, and Jackson realizes that Danny’s hand is lying on the table. Danny’s involved in a conversation with Scott about the lacrosse practice coming up that afternoon, not even looking at him, but Jackson knows a hint when he sees it. He can eat with one hand. He crunches on his apple at the same time as his fingers wind through to entangle with Danny’s, their hands linked in plain view.

Malia knocks his foot under the table, and Lydia drops into the seat next to Scott while murmuring something that sounds like _finally_. Stiles shoves another huge bite of sandwich in his mouth, chasing it with a long gulp of milk. Danny squeezes his fingers, and that’s all Jackson needs at the moment. Everything’s going to be fine.

#

Lacrosse tryouts should be easy, but Coach has some ridiculous idea that everyone’s trying out again and starting with a clean slate. Which means Danny isn’t guaranteed starting line for goal, Jackson and Scott aren’t guaranteed to be co-captains, and Stiles isn’t even guaranteed a spot on the team. And for some reason, there are an absurd number of people coming out for tryouts.

Isaac isn’t sure if he’s going to play this season and is in the stands with Kira and Malia. Even from here, Jackson swears he can smell the sorrow that clings to Isaac’s skin like rank cologne. Jackson gets it. It hasn’t been long enough, and he’s surprised that Scott’s not still in mourning as well. But everyone else who’s alive is back, vying for a spot on the team with varying degrees of success.

“He’s good.” Danny’s staring at the freshman in the goal as everyone else lines up. Someone that Jackson doesn’t recognize goes in slow, lobs a shot that the guy catches easily and tosses back. Scott goes in harder, his shot quick and sure, but the guy picks it off and makes it look easy. Danny winces.

“Coach isn’t going to give your spot on the line to a freshman,” Jackson mutters. “You’re better than that guy.”

“Liam.” The guy behind him in line raises his stick as he speaks. “His name’s Liam Dunbar. He’s a freshman and just transferred in.”

“Just in time to try out.” Danny huffs a sigh, cradles the ball he carries. He keeps it moving, but his gaze is fixed on the line up of players. Stiles is next, and he goes in determined, but the shot goes wild, straight into the frame of the net, firing off down the field as it bounces. There’s a burble of laughter, and Stiles glowers at the line of waiting players.

“We’re better,” Jackson says, and Danny nods. But it doesn’t make a difference; Liam fields the shots that both Danny and Jackson send his way easily, quick enough that it makes Jackson wonder what they might not know about Liam yet.

Stiles swaps spots in line, ends up with Danny and Jackson. He doesn’t say a word, just nods at Jackson, jerks his chin toward Liam. Because of course Stilinski’s on the same wavelength as he is. Jackson nods, raises his stick, and Stiles smirks. They shift around so that Jackson is in front of Stiles, and when he gets to the front of the line, he takes a moment to size Liam up.

Small. Smaller than Jackson, and Jackson’s not a tall guy. Compact, broad shouldered. He’d be a terrible swimmer; entirely the wrong build. And he smells angry, like every ball thrown at him adds to his fury, even while he picks them off with simmering determination. Jackson idly cradles the ball, watching the way Liam’s gaze tracks the movement of his stick. Jackson lets his smirk grow slowly, lets Liam think he’s not going to do anything. He holds his ground, waiting until Liam shifts his feet, and Coach yells at him to go.

Jackson explodes forward, moving at supernatural speed, leaping into the air as he fires the shot.

And Liam somehow fucking picks it off, tipping it with the edge of his basket. It’s not neat, it’s not nice, but it blocks the goal and that’s all that matters.

The kid has got to be _something_. He’s too fast, too good. He can’t be human.

Jackson exchanges a look with Stiles, raises one eyebrow, and Stiles nods. Danny warns quietly, “Jackson,” but Jackson ignores him, nudging Scott when he passes him on his way to the end of the line.

Coach shakes up the line, pulls Danny into goal for a few time through the line, then picks some freshman that has no stick handling skills whatsoever and manages the net only until another kid sends the ball into his shoulder and he needs to take five. “That’s it!” Coach yells. “Get a drink! Hydrate so you don’t pass out because I don’t need angry mothers calling me! And you!” He jabs his finger at Liam. “I like you, kid. I’m going to have my best players test you.”

“Pretty sure they already did and I passed.” Liam’s chin is up as he passes by, and Jackson swears he can see the chip on his shoulder. He’s tempted to flip Liam off, but Coach is watching so Jackson bites his tongue and manages to keep his opinions to himself. Barely.

Stiles cuts past Jackson, clearly a man on a mission as he follows Liam to the big water jug. Scott exchanges a glance with Danny, then follows, and Jackson stays close because whatever’s happening, he’s not going to miss it.

Stiles shoulders Liam slightly, the water in his cup sloshing over the edge. “You’re surprisingly good for a freshman,” he says, and Liam gives him a dark look. “You caught every shot,” Stiles says, the emphasis on the last words.

“I was playing goalie,” Liam says slowly, like he thinks Stiles might be dim. “That’s what I was supposed to do.”

“Yeah, but some of those shots were—” Stiles stops abruptly when Jackson knocks into him from one side, and Scott wedges between Stiles and Liam.

“That was some pretty incredible playing,” Scott says, his tone cheerful, lighter than Stiles was. “Almost miraculous.”

Liam smirks, and the expression is so fucking familiar. This is an asshole who knows he’s the best. “I’d say it was luck, but it wasn’t. Because yes, I really am that good.” He drains his cup and crushes it, tossing it in the bin. He pushes through the small space between Jackson and Stiles, shoving at them both to get through on his way back to the field.

“There is no way he’s human,” Stiles mutters.

“Bet we could get him to flash his eyes,” Jackson replies quietly, his gaze still fixed on Liam. If he’s not human, he can probably hear them. If he’s bothering to listen. “Maybe get him to show some evidence. Claws. Strength.”

“His speed is impressive.” Scott sounds doubtful. “But he could really just be that good.”

“Are you serious?” Jackson asks sharply. “I thought you were juiced and you weren’t even playing half as good after you were turned.”

“There is no way that kid is human.” Stiles lifts his stick, twirls it in his hands. “And boys, we’re going to prove it.”

“Jackson….” Danny’s voice is soft and low, firm enough that it makes Jackson pause even without the touch to his neck.

“If we’re dealing with another invading pack, we need to know.” Jackson doesn’t look over his shoulder until Danny grips his hand and tugs; as soon as he does look, Danny claims his mouth for a quick kiss.

“Try not to be an asshole,” Danny tells him and Jackson snorts because this is suspicious and they need to know. Besides, asshole is his default setting, which Danny already knows.

“Less kissing, more lacrosse!” Coach shouts. “Two on one for this drill, and when pairs finish at one goal, run to the other and line up there. Next pair in line alternate through being the single for the attack; take your place in goal when you’re done. We’re going until I say stop. Pair up!” Coach starts barking out pairs of names, and Jackson finds himself paired with Scott, starting at the opposite end, defending the goal against Danny.

It’s easy to switch gears from making out to lacrosse, even when he has to go against his best friend. “I’m not losing captain to a freshman,” Jackson whispers, just barely loud enough for Scott to hear. He sees Scott nod out of the corner of his eye, and together they both drop into a crouch, sticks at the ready as Danny attacks. It only takes a moment, and when Jackson fakes left and Danny switches direction, Scott anticipates the move and blocks Danny’s throw. They repeat three more times, alternating between Danny and Greenberg on the attack before Scott and Jackson race down the field to the other end, leaving Danny and Greenberg as the pair in goal.

“You know Liam’s not human,” Jackson murmurs as they get in line at the other goal.

“You sound like Stiles,” Scott replies softly. “Maybe you two have been talking too much.” When Scott glances over, his smile is honest and his eyes are kind; it’s the kind of gentle sweetness that makes Jackson’s teeth ache. “Thanks for that. He can’t even look me in the eye right now. He won’t let me help him.”

“He stabbed you.” Jackson looks away, then grips Scott’s arm and drags him off to one side. “Look, give him time,” he says. “You’ve managed to keep from getting blood on your hands so far, and fine, that’s you. But some of us haven’t had the choice and when it happens, it stains so fucking deeply that you have nightmares for the rest of your life.”

“You have claws,” Scott says mildly, and Jackson yanks his hand back quickly, dropping his hold on Scott’s arm. “And I know. I get it. I mean I don’t _get_ it, obviously, but you’ve been through something similar. That’s why I’m glad you’re there for him.” He glances past Jackson to the line that’s slowly moving. “Is there a reason why we’re talking now instead of showing off for Coach?”

Jackson glances down the other end of the field, where Liam and another boy are in the goal waiting for another player to attack. “Yeah. Get back in line now. This’ll put Liam on the attack against us.”

“He’s just good,” Scott says.

“He thinks he’s better than us, and he’s not.” At any other time, Jackson wouldn’t lump Scott McCall with himself as the same level of _good_. But right now, he needs Liam Dunbar to see that he’s just an asshole upstart freshman, and that he can’t come in and take over from the juniors. He’s not that good. Jackson will make sure he knows it.

They filter to the front of the line, and drop into position. Jackson has no idea who Liam’s partner is, but he sucks, which is what he’d expect from a skinny freshman. Liam, on the other hand, reads body language too fucking well. Scott and Jackson try to lure him with a fake, try to herd him, and he just sails on by, firing into the empty net. They try one defending and one in goal, and Liam still gets by. Jackson can feel the wolf simmering under his skin when they take their positions one more time. He glances over at Scott and nods, ready to go.

Liam charges, and Jackson doesn’t give ground. He lowers his shoulder, twists a little as he goes forward faster than natural, and suddenly he’s impacting Liam. It’s hard, shaking Jackson’s body, leaving him rocking backwards and ending up on the ground. He’d half expected Liam to sidestep again, to spin around him and use him as a block against Scott, but Liam didn’t anticipate this time. He didn’t do anything other than take the fucking hit and fly backwards, stumbling as he goes until he lands on his ass and just sits there like the wind’s knocked out of him.

“Whittemore! Dunbar!” Coach blows his whistle and everyone stops.

Jackson shakes off the hand Scott offers, pushing to his knees, and then his feet. He makes his way slowly to where Liam is still sitting on the ground, Danny crouched by his side while Coach holds up fingers and asks Liam how many there are.

“I didn’t hit my head!” Liam shouts. “It’s my leg, you idiot.”

“You wouldn’t be so cranky if it was just your leg,” Coach replies, and Liam snarls at him. But it’s a perfectly human snarl from a tiny ball of anger that seems to be well along the way to ramping itself up to pure fury.

“We’ll take him into the locker room.” Danny wedges one arm under Liam’s shoulder, and Scott’s there to get under the other arm. Between them, they get Liam on his feet and hobbling to the locker room, while Stiles and Jackson trail along behind.

“Bilinski!” Coach yells out. “We don’t need you here! Get Liam somewhere he can be checked out.” His voice drops, but Jackson can hear him muttering, “Don’t need another lawsuit just because some kid got broken on the lacrosse field. It’s Beacon Hills, you idiots. Take your life in your hands doing sports around here.”

Stiles waves at Coach in some approximation of a _yes_.

A guy meets them at the locker room—another freshman from the height, Jackson guesses, and obviously Liam’s friend. “That was _intense_ ,” the guy says. “Did you break it? I’ve never seen you take a hit that hard, not even when you were still playing for Devenford Prep.”

“Mason, shut up.” Liam glares at Mason. “I don’t know if it’s broken. If I’m out for the season, Dad’s going to kill me.”

Danny and Scott help Liam sit on a bench, then Scott crouches in front of him. He carefully gets the sneaker off, and Jackson can see the hint of black lines as he sucks some of the pain away. Scott asks Liam to wiggle his toes, try moving his foot, then tells him, “It’s probably not broken. But it’s definitely sprained, and you should get an x-ray just in case. My mom’s on shift in the ER. She’ll take care of you.”

There’s a light that goes out of Liam’s eyes at that, and he slumps in on himself. “Yeah. Sure. ER. That’s just awesome. Fucking awesome. Are you guys brutes to the other team, as well? Because that was a dick move.”

“You’d been dodging everything else, why didn’t you dodge that?” Jackson snarks, because fuck him, it was _not_ a dick move.

“It was kind of a dick move,” Danny murmurs, and Jackson refuses to listen.

“I’m not fucking perfect!” Liam yells. “I’m good. I’m better than you, but I’m not perfect. I’m just human, okay? We make mistakes.” Mason touches Liam’s hand and Liam goes silent, cheeks mottled red, his entire body giving off the rank odor of fury.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” Stiles says, “since I’m apparently not even needed at tryouts. There goes first line.”

“You go with them.” Scott looks at Jackson. “You knocked him down, you help take care of him.”

“I’m going with them, too,” Mason declares and Danny gets his hands on his shoulders, turns him toward the door.

“No, you’re not,” Danny says, and Mason pauses long enough to look back at Danny, and _fuck_ , Jackson really doesn’t need to smell that. Not here, not now, and not with clear want directed at _his_ boyfriend.

Wait.

“Come on, help me get Liam to the car.” Stiles touches Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson flinches. Stiles frowns at him. “What?”

“Danny’s my boyfriend.” It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and it’s the first time Jackson’s said it aloud. It sounds strange on his lips. Danny’s had boyfriends before, but Jackson’s never thought of himself that way. He licks his lips, repeats the same words, “Danny’s my boyfriend.”

“Congratulations,” Liam snarks. “And you’re the asshole who tried to break my leg. I’m betting he deserves better.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Stiles guides Jackson to where Liam sits, and together they get him standing again. “And dude. Yes, Danny’s your boyfriend. That’s obvious to everyone who saw you making out at your lockers, or during tryouts just now, or last night on the field. It’s not like we care about your sexual revelations. Congrats, you’re bi, and you’re dating the hottest and nicest guy in school.”

“I’m the hottest guy in school,” Jackson grumbles.

“Can we please focus on my injury here?” Liam says, tone sharp and just shy of shouting. Jackson replies by readjusting his hold, biting back the smile when Liam winces from his foot hitting the floor.

Sure, he’ll focus on Liam. He’s not sure Liam’s going to enjoy the experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, and happy Sunday! Now we start into the meat of the story. :) Tell me I'm not alone in thinking that a Liam and Jackson confrontation was going to be fun! 
> 
> Hope you all are continuing to enjoy the story. Right after this posts, I'm going to go edit the tags with everything that I know is coming (all characters, any possible required warnings). The next episode will post on Sunday, October 30. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

“You don’t need to stay with me.” Liam’s voice is a low grumble, his fingers white where they grip the edge of the examination table. His foot is propped up on a pillow, an ice pack wrapped around the ankle. “They’re going to examine it, decide if I need an x-ray, and then call my—oh, hey, Dad.”

The curtain pulls back and the man who walks in looks nothing like Liam. Dark skin, where Liam is pale; tall, where Liam is short. He smells like antiseptic and kindness, a sharp counterpoint to the fury still rolling off Liam’s skin. Jackson glances at Stiles, raises an eyebrow and Stiles shrugs in return.

“Thank you, boys, for bringing Liam in. I’m Dr. Geyer.” He holds out one hand, and Jackson takes it first, introducing himself quietly before making room for Stiles to do the same. Dr. Geyer glances from them to Liam and back again, his voice a low rumble when he speaks. “Temper get the best of you?” he asks, and Jackson feels his skin heat before he realizes that he’s talking to Liam, not Jackson.

Stiles grips Jackson’s wrists, long fingers closing tightly around him. “We’ll wait outside,” Stiles says, and yanks hard so that Jackson trips to follow him. “Glad to have helped out, Dr. Geyer.” They push through the curtain and make it out of the room and across the hall to the nurse’s station before stopping.

Jackson leans against the counter, ignoring the way Stiles chats with the nurse there. Jackson tunes his hearing to the slightly open door across the way, listening for Liam.

“You need to learn to reign that temper in, Liam.” Dr. Geyer voice is low, calm. There’s a rush of anxiety and frustration in Liam’s scent, strong enough to smell from here.

“I’m _good_ , and most of them are assholes,” Liam mutters. He snorts when his father cautions _language_. “It’s fine, Dad. I just tried too hard. You know how it is. Freshman. Wanted to make first line and there are all these upperclassmen. Had to try to prove myself, and I zigged when I should have zagged.”

A low laugh from Dr. Geyer. “I remember what it’s like, Liam. And it’s okay if you don’t make first line. You’ll still get to play, and it’ll be fine. You’ve got plenty of time to make a name for yourself.”

Jackson can’t tell whether Geyer is encouraging or insisting, can’t read the pressure he’s putting on his son. But Jackson gets that, he understands trying to please a father who won’t be pleased.

Doesn’t excuse the explosion of temper, or the fact that Liam’s a general asshole.

“Hey.” Stiles leans back against the counter next to Jackson, knocks into him with his shoulder. “Scott just texted me. Kira made the team.”

“What?” Jackson pulls his own phone out, realizes he has a text from Danny of Danny and Kira together, both holding out lacrosse sticks, crossed like they’re light sabers. “She wasn’t even trying out. Was she?”

“She was in the stands with Malia.” Stiles is focused on his phone, typing something quickly. “Kira and Scott are—well, they were, even before Al—” He cuts off abruptly, mouth snapping shut. When Jackson nudges him, Stiles glares. “Don’t. It’s easier in text. I’m not ready to talk about shit out loud, okay?”

Jackson keeps his hold on Stiles’s gaze. “So Scott and Kira have a thing going?” Focus on the now, don’t even talk about Allison. Because it’s okay. Scott’s mourning, yeah, but he’s still human. Jackson got the gist of what Stiles was trying to say.

“They would, if Scott could stop beating around the bush and ask her out properly.” The words are quick and sharp, like Stiles spits them out before he can get distracted onto other topics. “He likes her.”

“I heard that she’s just like you. Of course he’d fall for her.”

Stiles frowns. “Scott’s not gay. There’s nothing between us.”

So not what Jackson meant. “I didn’t say there was.” He raises his hands, then remembers that he’s holding his phone and shoves it back in his pocket. “I’m just saying: she’s got a similar personality to you, and you and Scott are glued together and have been since you were five.”

“Not as much anymore.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about that.” Jackson raises his hand and, without thinking, drops it to the nape of Stiles’s neck. He only realizes what he’s doing after the gesture is complete, after he’s touching Stiles exactly where his own collar lies, as if he can calm Stiles the same way that Danny calms him.

On the other hand, Stiles doesn’t shrug him away, just goes still under the touch, so Jackson stays that way for a moment before he pulls his hand back.

“Yeah, well, it can wait until midnight,” Stiles says softly. “With a phone between us.”

Jackson’s willing to let that go, and grunts his agreement.

Doors slam open with a bang, EMTs pushing into the hall and calling out for a doctor. There’s blood everywhere, the stench metallic and thick, and Jackson backs up several steps before he catches himself. Stiles is pale and shaking, nerves in the air around him. Jackson grabs him, pulls him back out of the way, lets the doctors and nurses gather around the stretcher, calling for blood and tests, taking whoever the guy is off to a private room.

There’s a familiar note in the air, and Jackson glances up when he recognizes the Sheriff approaching. Jackson still has an arm wrapped around Stiles, and he slowly lets go, makes sure they’re both standing stable and on their own.

“Dad.”

“Stiles. Jackson.” The Sheriff’s glance flickers between them, his head cocked as his brows furrow. He mouths _kanima_ to Stiles in a clear question that even Jackson can read, and Jackson can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Not anymore,” Jackson says curtly, and the Sheriff looks vaguely embarrassed.

“What are you doing here? What happened?” Stiles crowds in close to the Sheriff, and after a brief moment, the Sheriff pulls Stiles in, claps him on the back as he gives him a quick, hard hug.

The Sheriff looks around, pauses, and when Jackson turns, Melissa McCall is motioning for them to follow her. She leads them to a small room where they can go in and close the door. It wouldn’t stop prying werewolf ears, but it’s good enough to keep them away from any humans who might be listening.

“Multiple homicide, one survivor.” The Sheriff’s words are quick, clinical. “Clark and I are here with the survivor, and Parrish is going over the crime scene. I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing where Parrish is going to find much that’s helpful to the Sheriff’s department, unfortunately.”

“You said multiple homicide. That seems right up the department’s alley,” Stiles points out.

“Something didn’t feel right about it. That kid….” The Sheriff’s voice trails off as he looks at the door. “He’s unconscious and bloody and he shouldn’t be alive. But he is. And when things look like that in Beacon Hills—”

“They aren’t always natural.” Stiles finishes his sentence easily, nodding along with the Sheriff. Jackson can smell the shift from anxiety to interest, the way Stiles’s attention is piqued and he’s ready for a new mystery. Probably ready for a distraction.

“Think there’s any chance that Derek can look in on it?” The Sheriff reels off an address, repeating it once when Stiles asks him to. Stiles already has his phone out, typing into it quickly, and he sends the message.

“Done.”

“I don’t want you going over there,” the Sheriff cautions. “That isn’t the kind of place you boys ought to be.”

“I’m not a murderous lizard anymore, but I’m still a werewolf,” Jackson says dryly. “I can take care of myself. Not to mention, I’m good at differentiating between scents. Better than McCall.”

“But not better than Derek.” Stiles wraps his fingers around Jackson’s wrist, tightens them down in warning. Stiles lifts his phone, peers at the screen. “Derek says he’ll go over and who the hell is Parrish and does he actually know anything useful? I’m guessing that’s a no.”

“Parrish has no idea about the supernatural,” the Sheriff says. “And I’d appreciate if Derek doesn’t clue him in, unless he absolutely has to. Don’t leave him in the dark if it’ll put him in danger.”

Stiles starts typing with one thumb, and when the Sheriff’s gaze drops to where Stiles still holds Jackson’s wrist, Stiles flushes warmly, his scent suffused with embarrassment. Stiles yanks his hand away, quickly types a message back to Derek and puts his phone in his pocket when he’s done.

The Sheriff looks from Stiles to Jackson and back again. “I take it you two are friends now?”

Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets. “We’re not enemies. Jackson’s been talking to me about things. When I have nightmares.”

Jackson’s surprised that Stiles admits that. “Does he know everything?”

“Yeah. Mostly.” Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “I hadn’t mentioned that you were back from London.”

“Never left.”

“Fine, I didn’t tell him that you were wandering around Beacon Hills for months on four legs and wearing a fur coat because I didn’t think he’d care.”

The Sheriff keeps looking back and forth between them, finally shakes his head. “I don’t care, as long as there isn’t still a restraining order that needs to be held up.”

Right. That. “No restraining order,” Jackson says quietly. “It’s fine. We’re okay now. I never knew I was transforming, so I had no idea that they were actually trying to either save me or kill me, depending on the moment. I just thought they were being assholes, like usual.”

“Says the pot to the kettle.” Stiles’s voice is quick and sharp.

“Never said I wasn’t an asshole.” Jackson shrugs. “But yes, I’m back, I’m dating Danny, and I’m apparently pack-adjacent. McCall isn’t my Alpha.”

The Sheriff nods like he’s taking his time to assimilate that, or maybe trying to see through the holes into the pieces of the story that Jackson left out. It’s disturbingly like watching a grown-up Stiles trying to figure out a problem, and Jackson wonders if this is what Stiles will be in thirty years, if he’ll follow the same path.

“Which brings me to a different question.” The Sheriff’s hands are on his hips, his expression stern. “What, exactly, are you boys doing in the ER? I doubt you’re bringing dinner to Melissa.”

“Well, we _could_ be,” Stiles starts out slow, ends with a sigh at the raised eyebrow his father gives him. Stiles deflates a little. “But we’re actually here because one of the guys got injured during lacrosse tryouts. I drove him over, and since Jackson was the one that made the hit that took Liam down, Coach insisted he come along. Besides, it took two of us to get Liam out of the car and into a wheelchair.” He rushes his words before the Sheriff can interrupt. “He’s fine, really. Stupid accident. He zigged when he should’ve zagged and instead of avoiding Jackson, he got a little bit trampled. So he’s got a sprained ankle. We’ll take him home later, make sure he has plenty of ice, wait on him hand and foot.”

“Speak for yourself.” Because Jackson isn’t going to spend any more time waiting on Liam than he absolutely has to. “I’m not waiting on anyone. If you’re so bored that you want to hang around with a freshman, feel free.” Maybe Stiles is collecting assholes; if so, Liam would certainly fit in.

“You know what, I don’t want to know any more than that.” The Sheriff raises his hands, backs toward the door. “Just try not to break anything else while you’re here, and if you hear from Derek before I do, let me know what he says.”

“Gotcha.” Stiles points finger guns at the Sheriff, waits while he heads out. Jackson can hear footsteps fading down the hall, and Stiles seems to be listening to them too, his head cocked.

“What?” Jackson asks. It’s not like the Sheriff is going to pretend to walk away and listen outside the door. And if he did, Jackson would hear his heartbeat, and they are definitely alone.

“So, what do you think we should do?” Stiles takes out his phone again, frowns at it and puts it away without doing anything. “Derek’s going to be busy with that guy’s crime scene for a while, and we’re stuck here with Liam and crime scene guy happens to be right here, so… I was thinking….” He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence.

Jackson holds up a hand, a quiet _wait_ gesture. He takes a moment to text Derek himself, telling Derek to text if he needs backup or if anything looks in any way suspicious or troublesome. Then he tucks his phone away and stands there, hands on his hips as he looks at Stiles. “So we go look into this guy. If we can.”

#

They get a name for the guy—Sean—and the information that he’s been rolled into surgery. No matter how hard they try, they can’t get in to see him, and Melissa shoos them back to where Liam’s still sitting on a rolling bed in the ER. Mason has joined him, and greets them with a cheerful hello.

“That was intense,” Mason says, bringing up something on his phone and leaning in close to show it to Liam. “Did you see how fast they moved?” Mason glances over at Jackson, shakes his head. “Man, you are quick on your feet. I never thought I’d meet someone faster than Liam.”

“Thanks, Mason,” Liam grumbles. “Why don’t you fanboy on your own time. Or just ask him out.”

“It’s not like that.” The words come too quick to be true, accompanied by a small skip of Mason’s heart. Stiles snorts, biting back a laugh, and Jackson raises one eyebrow, smirking. “Okay, maybe it’s a bit like that. Can you blame me? I’ll never play the game, but you guys are hot. But don’t worry,” he nods at Jackson. “I’ve already heard that you’re taken.” He turns his attention to Stiles, shrugging, “and you’re straight. And to be honest, nice as the scenery is, they’ve got nothing on your old team from Devenford Prep, Liam.”

“Just because you’re hung up on Brett Talbot, and I can’t even think _why_ ,” Liam grumbles. “Your taste is terrible.”

“Didn’t you used to be best friends with the guy?” Mason asks idly, and Liam’s scent goes hot and angry with a quick rush.

“Look, we’re not here for social hour, and I don’t need to know who likes who,” Stiles says dryly. Jackson takes a step closer, his tongue flicking out to taste the air around him, but there’s nothing more than wet ash. The taste is bitter at the back of his throat, and Jackson frowns, bothered by the scent.

“I’m stuck here until my dad’s done with his shift.” Liam readjusts his seat on the bed, his foot wrapped in an air cast to brace it. “I’ve got crutches, but I don’t have a way home. And I’m out for _two weeks._ ” The growl is more pronounced, and Jackson’s thankful this kid isn’t a werewolf. He’d be a fucking angry one, that’s for sure. “Danny dropped Mason off, so he doesn’t have a car to take me home.”

“My mom is barely home from work. I could try to call her,” Mason says, “but she’s got a lot going on, and Dad’ll be home soon and there’s dinner, which I’m probably going to miss, but hey, she gets it, best friend comes first.”

Liam glances at Mason. “She wouldn’t let you if you hadn’t finished your work.”

“Homework’s done, she doesn’t care if I don’t eat,” Mason responds with a grin.

Jackson’s head is spinning and he lets a growl slip free, just barely keeps from flashing his eyes in irritation. Both freshman go silent, staring at him.

“…I thought Liam had a temper,” Mason finally whispers.

Stiles knocks into Jackson, gets between him and the other boys. “Yeah, well, Jackson’s an ass—which you already knew—and he’s not patient. So let’s get this show on the road, since obviously we’re shoving everyone into my Jeep to get out of here. Do you have your discharge papers, Liam? Because you can’t leave until those are signed, and since you’re a minor, you probably have to have your dad sign them.”

“You seem like you know your way around hospital procedures,” Mason observes, and Stiles goes still.

“Yeah.” Stiles smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “My best friend’s mom works here. Nurse McCall. You met her earlier. So Scott and I spent a lot of time here growing up.”

“So if you’ve got your papers signed, we can get out of here.” Jackson wants to cut off any more questioning; the stench of underlying anxiety that Stiles gives up is choking him.

“Did someone say discharge papers?” The curtain pulls back, and Melissa McCall is there, tension radiating out from her, thick in her scent. She steps in, moves easily past Stiles and Jackson as she hands the papers over to Liam. “All freshly signed from your dad, Liam, so you can get out of here as soon as you’ve got a ride. Boys?” She glances at Stiles and Jackson, nods at the hallway. “Can I have a moment of your time.”

“Sure.” Jackson leads the way, letting Stiles be the one to make nice in the background, letting Liam know they’ll be back to get him out of there and that he shouldn’t go anywhere in the meantime.

Liam’s disgruntled voice is loud. “Where the hell am I going to go in a hospital and _how_? I’m stuck in a wheelchair or on crutches.”

“Wheelchair races,” Mason suggests, their voices fading as Melissa herds Jackson and Stiles into the hallway and closes the door behind them.

“Do you remember our potentially unusual patient who came in with your father?” Melissa whispers, waiting for them to nod in reply. “Well, as it turns out, he’s decided to go for a walk in the hospital.”

“What?” Stiles asks.

“He’s missing?” Jackson tries to clarify.

“Gone,” Melissa confirms, her voice low enough that Stiles leans against Jackson’s shoulder, trying to hear her. “Left a bloodied orderly behind. It looks like he tried to eat the orderly.”

“I’d say that confirms that he’s no longer potentially weird and is either psychotic or supernatural,” Stiles mutters. “Jackson?”

“If you’re planning on looking into it, I’m going with you,” Jackson says firmly. “Lydia would kill me if I let something happen to you.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were starting to care about me.” Stiles puts a hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll find Sean before he eats anyone else. I promise.”

Jackson’s pretty sure that Stiles shouldn’t be making promises he doesn’t know how to keep, but he also can’t go against the relief he feels wafting off of Melissa. So he just nods and makes the proper noises until Melissa leaves them on their own. Jackson points at the door back into the room where Liam and Mason sit. “You get to go explain to them that they need to sit tight and not move. Then we can go find the cannibalistic creature.” Because if Jackson has to do it, he’s going to yell when Mason gets curious, and fuck, they don’t have time for this. There’s a potential murderer on the loose, and they don’t have time to babysit the freshmen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! It's almost November, which means it's time for NaNo, which means that first things first, it's time for me to finish writing the last six chapters of this story! Once everything is written and betaed, I am planning to switch to twice a week posting (Wednesday and Sunday) until it's done. So cross your fingers that the words flow easily, and I can get this finished up. I'm really looking forward to sharing it with you! And if you're curious, I think that there will be one more teensy story after this one's done (no, I'm not even kidding), just to finalize a few things. Because they all deserve it.
> 
> The next part will post on Sunday, November 6th. See you all then! Until then, feel free to come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon typical blood and violence in this chapter.

Jackson has his phone in his hand, typing quickly while Stiles talks to Liam and Mason. _There’s an orderly-eating monster on the loose at the hospital. We need you here_. He presses send and hopes Scott just gets his ass over here quickly rather than asking more questions.

“It doesn’t matter why, there’s just something we need to do because Melissa asked us to,” Stiles says, an edge of irritation to his voice. “I know you want to get home. Fine. It sucks that you’re stuck here, but you’re stuck until we get this done and then we’ll take you home. Just sit tight. It’s not like you can go far on your own anyway.”

“Wheelchair races,” Mason whispers, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

Stiles grabs Jackson and pushes him out of the room, slams the door behind them. “Did you get hold of Scott?”

“I told him to get his ass here now,” Jackson says. “How are we going to find Sean?”

Stiles smirks slightly, reaching out to slip a finger under Jackson’s collar and twist slightly. “We’re going to follow the scent trail. You said you’re good, let’s prove it.”

Jackson jerks away from the touch, cheeks hot with anger, eyes flashing brightly. “Don’t.” The word comes out of a mouth full of teeth, bared in a low, sharp growl. Stiles stands there, his hand still raised, hovering in mid-air, brow furrowing in confusion, and Jackson doesn’t want to explain, doesn’t want to clear the air for why that was _wrong_. He inhales, forces his features back to human. “No dog jokes,” he growls low in his throat. He stalks away before Stiles can respond, heading for the elevator, and he refuses to say a word to Stiles as they head up to the third floor.

They walk down the hall toward the room Sean was in for recovery. Stiles glances at Jackson, and Jackson raises an eyebrow and motions for Stiles to go into the room first.

“Surgery and supernatural don’t usually go together,” Stiles murmurs, looking around the room. “I mean, it seems like most supernatural creatures don’t need it.”

“Lydia,” Jackson says, because that’s the best example he has of someone who seems more human than anything else.

“Lydia’s different, and if Sean was covered in blood and still alive, I’m guessing he didn’t take well to being opened up and sewn back together.” Stiles crouches down, doesn’t touch the spill of blood on the floor. “Can you tell the difference between the scents in here? Can you isolate Sean?”

It’s a rush of scents, almost too many to sift through. The antiseptic is overwhelming, the blood second to that. But the freshest blood is the orderly, and Jackson can filter that out. He takes note of Melissa, and Dr. Geyer, and ignores those as well. He finds an undertone of blood, fainter but still present; that has to be Sean and his healing injuries. “Got it.” He’s pretty sure he’s got it, anyway, and he’s not showing weakness in front of Stiles.

Stiles motions for the door. “After you.”

Once they’re in the hall, Jackson can narrow down to the scent that he believes is Sean. He smells old blood and hunger and desperation. “This way.” He walks quickly, and Stiles keeps up easily.

“All I have to say about this is that I don’t have a baseball bat.” Stiles says it like it makes complete sense, and Jackson stops in his tracks, spins to find Stiles standing there with his hands out. “I’m no longer possessed by an evil demon. I can’t snap my fingers and send someone flying across the room. I’m human, dude, and I’m defenseless. I’m just asking you to remember that I don’t even have a fucking baseball bat with me.”

There’s a rattling sound, and Jackson looks up, gaze narrowing. He can’t see what was knocked over, but no one seems worried, so it can’t be a rampaging, human-eating monster. “Don’t worry,” he mutters. “Like I said, Lydia would kill me if I let anything happen to you. You’ll be fine. Come on.”

The scents take them on a circuitous path through the hospital. It gets stronger, and Jackson moves faster, reaching behind him to grab Stiles’s wrist and drag him along.

There’s a crash ahead of them, and a burst of motion mapped to a rush of anxious scent; Jackson starts to run. He drops Stiles’s arm, knows Stiles is pounding along behind him, footsteps echoing as they race through the halls. Sean disappears through a door, and they follow him into the stairwell.

Jackson inhales, points up, and they start to climb.

They emerge on the top floor of the hospital, all maintenance rooms and tight spaces. In the distance, an elevator dings, but Jackson ignores it, stalking toward a still-open door off to one side.

“Jackson….”

He raises a hand to hush Stiles. “He’s on the roof.” Jackson pushes through the door, finds Sean crouched on the other side, his mouth far too full of teeth, reeking of blood. Jackson shoves Stiles out of the way, takes the attack as Sean leaps on him, teeth biting through his shirt and his arm. Jackson howls and he hears a sound in the distance and he hopes that’s Scott.

“You brought me food.” Sean’s voice is thick around his teeth, the words garbled. His grin is feral, nothing human left in his eyes. “I’m so hungry. So very hungry. I need to eat, to heal.”

“Yeah, well, I am not being served up on a silver platter,” Stiles snarks, his hand patting the ground near where he fell. Jackson sees him wrap his fingers around a metal bar, and Jackson growls to bring Sean’s attention back to himself.

“We’re not dinner,” Jackson says, letting the partial change wash over himself. He retains his humanity, feels claws and teeth erupt, and he leaps forward, tackling Sean, rolling with him to the ground. Sean throws him off and Jackson’s back hits the wall and it fucking _hurts_. That’s the problem with being a werewolf: he might heal, but it all stills hurts when it happens.

“Whoa. Intense.”

Sean comes up to a crouch, whirls to face the door. “Dinner,” he hisses, and leaps.

Shit.

Jackson barely has time to register the two boys standing in the doorway, Mason’s eyes dark and wide, Liam leaning half on one crutch and half on Mason. He sees Stiles jump to his feet, but he can’t see anything else as the change washes over him, taking precious time to fall to four feet and fur, hackles rising as he growls loudly.

Mason is on the ground off to one side, Stiles on top of him, holding him down as he struggles.

Liam’s crutch has fallen to the ground, and Liam is screaming, the sound agonizing as Sean chews into his belly.

Fuck.

Jackson barrels into Sean, knocks him off of Liam. He feels the first bite in his shoulder, and another in the meat of his leg. He howls his anger and pain, tries to latch onto Sean’s throat. The feral teen is fast and strong, but Jackson is fucking well determined and he finally manages to get hold, feels the blood well up into his mouth as he rips Sean’s throat out.

He sits back, falling into his human form as he realizes that his clothes are gone, ripped to shreds when he transformed. The taste of blood is metal on his tongue, the scent thick enough in the air to gag him.

“Liam!” Twin shouts from Scott and Melissa, and Jackson blinks as they fall to their knees next to Liam. He’s barely processing words, trying to get past the memory of the wolf destroying a life as Mason and Stiles trip over each other explaining what happened.

Liam’s breath rattles.

“There isn’t much time,” Jackson manages to rasp out, and Scott looks at him, startled and worried as his eyes flash red.

Mason shouts when Scott lifts Liam’s arm and bites into the flesh, going deep and drawing blood. Scott growls, his eyes bright red as he holds on and digs into Liam’s flesh.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mason shouts, and Stiles leaps on his back, holding him.

“Saving your friend, just stop, it’s going to be okay,” Stiles tells him.

“Heart rate’s stabilizing,” Melissa says quietly, one hand on Liam’s shoulder for comfort, the fingers of her other hand resting lightly against his throat to check his pulse. “We’ve still got a lot of blood, and I’m not going to be able to see how much of it is his while we’re up here.”

“Give it five minutes.” Scott sounds defeated. He sits back on his heels, his head bowed. “Just give him five minutes. If he’s healing, we’re good. If he’s not… we’re going to have a problem.”

Liam coughs wetly.

“What did you do?” Mason asks again, and Stiles hushes him.

Liam blinks his eyes open, pushes himself up on one elbow. “Ow.” And that’s a good sign. Jackson smells the way tension drops away from Scott’s scent, the way Melissa almost seems to fold in relief.

“We need to get you all out of here.” Melissa looks past Scott to where Jackson sits on the ground, Sean’s body bloodied and still beside him. “I’ll take care of the body. I’ll just say….” She rubs a bloody hand across her face. “I don’t know what I’ll say, but I’ll think of something. Stiles, I think your father might still be nearby with Deputy Clark. I’ll get in touch with him. But you boys, you all need to leave. And I think you need to talk about things.” She lays heavy emphasis on the last word, and Jackson shivers because this really wasn’t what any of them planned to do today.

Scott wedges an arm under Liam’s shoulder, hauls him to his feet. Liam stands there, both feet planted on the ground, staring down.

“Doesn’t hurt.” Liam’s voice is slow and soft, still in shock, Jackson thinks.

Shock. That place where everything’s a bit soft and numb and slow. Sounds familiar.

“That’s just a side effect of the healing properties of the bite,” Stiles says easily. He pushes to his feet and Mason scrambles away from him, crosses over to Liam and starts checking him over. Liam seems to be standing just fine on his own.

The only ones who are still on the ground are Sean and Jackson and Jackson’s pretty sure that Sean’s not getting up this time.

“Jackson.” Stiles crouches in front of him. “We need to get out of here.”

“I’m naked.” It’s a valid and important observation. They’re already going to call attention to themselves with all the blood. Nudity will only make it worse.

“You can shapeshift,” Stiles says slowly, like a wolf walking through the hospital isn’t going to be as noticeable as a naked teenager. “We’re going out to the cars. You’ll come with me, Liam and Mason will go with Scott. I’m going to text Derek and let him know that we’re coming to the loft for an emergency pack meeting. He’ll get in touch with everyone else.”

“Don’t let him leave out Danny or Malia. You need to text Danny yourself.” Jackson has to be firm on that. There are too many packs, too many fractured pieces of packs. This is Scott’s problem, and it’s sort of Jackson’s problem, and they’re going to Derek’s to talk to about it. Three packs, one place. But Jackson needs his pack to be there.

“I’ll make sure. Now shift.” Stiles takes a step back as Jackson rolls to his hands and knees, lets the wolf wash over him. The taste and scent are sharper now, blood on his paws and fur. He shakes himself, sends droplets flying as Stiles groans and Mason whispers _intense_.

Stiles lets his hand fall to the top of Jackson’s head, threads his fingers through the fur. “I know,” Stiles whispers, and Jackson knows he does. Knows that Stiles gets it, knows where his head is right now, but he doesn’t have time to deal with it. All he can do is follow the others and get the hell out of the hospital.

#

Jackson claims seniority and grabs the shower before Liam can get into the bathroom. He stands under the hot water, lets it sluice over him until his skin is red and raw, burning with the ache of it. It’s already healing by the time he steps out.Danny pushes into the room while Jackson is still toweling off.

Danny yanks him in, one hand at the nape of his neck, Jackson’s face buried in the crook of his neck. Jackson’s arms go around him and he holds on, clings tighter than he should, lets Danny press kisses to the top of his head and just stands there until he can breathe again.

There’s a knock and Danny disengages. “You okay?”

Jackson laughs sharply. “Not really, no, but I’m as fine as it’s going to get. I’m going to be tasting blood for months.” It’s not like pulling down a deer with Malia. When Jackson thinks about it, he has dim memories of seeing Sean around the school, going to classes just like anyone else. And now he’s dead because Jackson ripped his throat out.

“I’ve got your clothes.” Another knock as Stiles speaks outside the door. “Danny left them on the couch when he came in, so I just figured… I’ll just leave them here.”

Jackson yanks the door open, holds out his hand, not worried about the fact that the towel is long gone, puddled on the floor. “Just give me the clothes, Stiles. It’s not like you didn’t already get an eyeful earlier. Or in the locker room any day after practice.”

There are dark circles under Stiles’s eyes, and he holds the pile of clothes limply, like they could fall from his fingers and he really wouldn’t care. He smells exhausted, like the events of the last hour sapped the last of his strength, and Jackson wonders how he’s even still standing. He grabs the clothes and Stiles wavers on his feet.

Danny’s hand trails across the small of Jackson’s back. “I’ll just wait in the living room for you.” He’s next to Stiles with his next step, leaning into his shoulder just enough that Jackson can see the way that Stiles sags a little, lets Danny take his weight.

“Liam’s getting snarky about wanting to wash the blood off,” Stiles mutters. “Get your ass in gear so we don’t have to listen to him.”

“I can’t believe Scott bit him.” Just when they get it settled that Liam’s nothing more than human, Scott changes that. It figures.

“Derek bit you, and you were just as much of an asshole as Liam is,” Stiles shoots back. “What was he going to do? Leave him to die?”

“He was idiot enough to come crawling up to the roof and follow us when he could barely walk.” Jackson’s words are a low growl. “Mason’s lucky he wasn’t hurt, too.”

“Just get the fuck out of the shower and deal with it.” Liam comes up behind Stiles, standing there with his arms crossed, reeking of blood and fury. “I stink. And the worst part is, I can smell exactly how bad I stink.”

Jackson pulls himself up to his full height, stares down at Liam from the few inches advantage that he has. He crosses his arms, holding the pile of clothes against his chest, not caring that other than that, he’s wearing a collar and nothing else. “You want the shower? Fine.” He pushes past them all and stalks into the living room, drops the clothes on the back of the nearest chair and turns back to face Liam. He spreads his hands. “The bathroom is all yours. Go ahead and fucking shower.”

“Fuck you.” Liam flips him off, then slams into the bathroom, the door reverberating when it strikes. Derek winces, muttering something under his breath.

“Is this a clothing optional meeting?” Malia asks hopefully, her fingers at the hem of her shirt. “We’re all parts of packs, right? So it’s not like we have to follow human rules.”

Kira sits on the edge of Malia’s chair, her eyes wide, a lacrosse stick clutched against her chest. “I’d like to follow human rules, please. I’m not a werewolf and I don’t get naked. I don’t change shape; I just shock things. Remember?”

Malia wrinkles her nose and sighs, letting go of her shirt.

“Whoa, you shock things?” Mason’s voice is still low, fascinated. “What are you?”

“Kitsune.”

“Never heard of that. I’m going to have to look that up.”

Jackson tunes out the conversation as he digs through the pile and finds underwear first, then his jeans. That’s enough to at least make him presentable. While he’s finishing getting dressed, the loft door rolls open again and Chris Argent and Isaac come in, bringing a wave of sorrowed scent with them. He feels the way Stiles seems to crumble in on himself more, and Jackson can’t object when Danny sinks to the floor to sit and drags Stiles with him, giving him a shoulder to lean on. The scent of guilt is thick enough to choke Jackson.

There aren’t enough seats in the place, so Jackson joins them on the floor, bolstering Stiles from the other side. The loft is a large place, but the seating is limited. Malia and Kira have taken over one chair, and Lydia sits like a queen in the other chair. Mason, Derek, Scott, and now Isaac are squeezed in on the couch, while Chris stands nearby, his legs spread slightly, arms crossed, thoroughly defensive. The loft door rolls open one more time, and everyone goes silent as Peter walks in.

He smiles, a polite veneer that doesn’t even come close to reaching his scent, and Jackson struggles to keep his heart rate steady. Malia fails, and Jackson watches as Peter’s gaze shifts to her, falls on her with a steady look. Peter only looks away when he realizes that Lydia is sitting perfectly still in her chair, her eyes locked on examining her fingernails, refusing to look at him.

When Peter moves to take up a position behind Lydia’s chair, her voice is hoarse. “No.”

Peter stops dead, inclines his head as he murmurs, “Of course, my dear.” Jackson growls under his breath, his tone matched by Malia as they watch Peter move to stand behind the couch, his stance as lazy as Chris’s is watchful and wary.

“We’re all here now, except for Melissa and the Sheriff,” Derek says.

“Liam’s still in the shower,” Mason offers.

Scott shakes his head. “That’s okay. Does anyone else have any other business that needs to be brought up before Liam gets back?”

“We need to talk about pack lines and how we will work together,” Lydia says sharply. “There are at least three distinct pack groupings in this room—four if you consider Peter his own pack, and I do, and five if you note that Isaac seems to have moved his allegiance to the hunters.”

Mason twists abruptly, looking from Isaac to Chris. “Hunters?”

“We’ll get there.” Scott’s words might be addressed to Lydia, and possibly to Mason. “But I don’t think we’re going to work that out today. Right now we need to deal with the fact that we have two new pack members, however they fit in.”

The water twists off in the bathroom.

“Liam can hear you now.” Scott raises his voice only slightly. “So let’s get started with what happened tonight.”

“I’m assuming that whatever happened has to do with the new blood I spy and smell in the loft,” Peter says dryly. “Are we taking in strays?”

“I bit Liam.”

Scott’s voice has a depth and force to it that Jackson’s never heard. It makes his wolf whine, ready to roll over and bare its belly. Jackson glances at Derek, sees his former alpha watching him. Derek nods slightly, and Jackson feels his wolf uncoil and relax. Jackson leans into Stiles a bit more, fingers tangled with Danny’s where they meet him on the floor behind Stiles’s back.

Peter’s eyebrows rise. “Our pure True Alpha made himself a beta? Oh, this is lovely news.”

“The dead kid was a wendigo.” Chris cuts in sharply. “Derek called me, and Isaac and I went over the crime scene after the Sheriff’s office was done with it. There’s going to be a further investigation—the Sheriff’s office can’t ignore that almost an entire family was murdered in what seems to be cold blood, and that the one survivor went insane in the hospital. They also can’t ignore the walk in storage cooler in the basement that had seven corpses hanging like meat on hooks, well preserved and in different stages of having been dismembered.”

Mason’s entire expression falls, his mouth slightly open. “You’re kidding.” Chris just looks at him, and Mason shakes his head. “You’re not kidding. That’s really fucking intense.”

Footsteps come close, and conversation pauses. Jackson twists to look at the same time as everyone else, and Liam stands there in his jeans and a t-shirt, still toweling his hair dry. Anger falls off of him in waves, and Jackson swears he’s vibrating slightly.

“I don’t care about that insane asshole in the hospital,” Liam grumbles. “I want to know why the fuck you bit me. And what happened to all my injuries? Because this is insane, not intense.”

“Still intense,” Mason says, and Liam glares at him.

“Maybe you should sit down for this?” Kira suggests.

Liam’s gaze sweeps the room, and Jackson can see him cataloguing the lack of options. “No,” he says, crossing his arms. “Just tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Scott stands, crosses the room to stand just in front of Liam. “I’m a werewolf,” he says, and when Liam does nothing, he adds, “You’re a werewolf.”

Liam snorts sharply. “Hah. Now tell me the truth.”

Scott drops his gaze, twists his head, and then he growls at Liam, eyes blazing red, face feral and fierce. Liam takes a step back, hands dropping, and Scott growls again. It’s a call, and Jackson responds without thinking, scrambling to his feet along with every other wolf in the room. Isaac, Peter, Derek, Malia, and Jackson all transform, Jackson not going any further than claws and teeth since he doesn’t want to ruin another set of clothes.

“Whoa,” Mason whispers, as Liam’s eyes flash yellow, and he transforms in response to the threat he perceives.

Scott lets the wolf fall away from him, his voice reverberating as he says quietly, “Stop.”

The sense of threat falls away, and with it they all return to humanity. Malia falls back into her chair, Kira’s hand on her shoulder, and Jackson folds his legs to take his place on the floor again. He’s shaken, irritated by the way Scott could do that, calling to his wolf when he works so hard to keep control over himself. There’s a hand at his collar, fingers slipping beneath it in a familiar way that he recognizes as Danny, which means the hand on his lower back has to be Stiles. Jackson lets his head fall forward, lets their touch anchor him in humanity.

“What about everyone else?” Mason breaks the silence. “You.” He points at Kira. “You said kitsune.”

“Kitsune, yes.” Kira raises her fingers, waves. “And my name is Kira. This is Malia.”

“I’m a coyote,” Malia says flatly. “Not a wolf. I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t made me stop being a coyote.”

“Banshee.” Lydia has her arms crossed, legs crossed neatly at the knees. “You don’t want to hear me scream.”

Mason looks over his shoulder at Chris, who smiles thinly. “Human.”

Danny echoes the word, but Stiles hesitates until Jackson bumps him with his shoulder. “Human,” Stiles says softly. “Now. Again. Just human.”

“You were something else?” Mason asks.

“Stop asking questions and quit taking roll call like it’s class!” Liam shouts. “Mason, he fucking _bit me_. He made me into a fucking werewolf like this is some kind of fairy tale—”

“It’s more like a horror movie,” Stiles says dryly. “Jackson just barely escaped being an American Werewolf in London. Although, when you think about it, fairy tales were pretty dark and disturbing before they were Disneyfied. Think about the original ending to The Little Mermaid…” His voice drops away when he sees Scott looking down at him. Stiles raises a finger, gestures in acquiescence and stays silent.

Liam growls, and Scott growls louder, forcing him to back down. Liam takes several steps back, ends up sitting on the arm of the couch next to Isaac. Liam drops like strings have been cut, his mouth hanging open slightly. “This is bullshit,” he grumbles.

“No, this is our _life,_ ” Stiles snaps. “You have no idea what’s been going on in Beacon Hills around you for the last year, and now that you’ve wandered into it, you have to deal with it.”

“I only have to deal with it because he _bit me_!” Liam yells, leaning forward.

“He only bit you because you followed us to the roof when we were chasing a known killer!”

“I only followed you because you kept putting me off and you were acting like you were hiding something and you were my ride home!”

Liam reeks of indignant fury, and waves of exhaustion roll off of Stiles’s skin. Jackson and Danny rise as Stiles does, Jackson getting one arm around his waist when Stiles wavers, clearly unstable on his feet.

“You made a bad decision,” Stiles snarls. “And now we’re the ones who have to deal with it. Take ownership of your mistakes.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is quiet, calm. It does nothing, Stiles’s breath shuddering in his chest, his body shaking.

Danny wedges an arm under Stiles’s other shoulder, and they all take a step back when Stiles fights to get away as Scott approaches.

“Maybe you should go home,” Scott says gently. “You need sleep, Stiles.”

Stiles opens his mouth, and Jackson doesn’t think, just claps a hand over it. “We’re going to go out in the hallway,” Jackson says. “If we don’t come back, we’ll make sure Stiles gets home okay.”

“Can you trust them?” Kira’s voice sounds uncertain as they make their way to the door.

“Jackson and Danny are good,” Malia says firmly. “Jackson knows about nightmares and about killing people.”

“Killing people?” There’s a squeak in Mason’s voice, and Jackson tries not to think about what Malia just said in front of people he barely knows. He just slides the door open and moves through it, pulling it closed behind him.

He hears Lydia as the door slides shut. “Jackson and Danny will take care of Stiles,” she says quietly. “No one is going to kill anyone, as long as we make sure that our newest pack member passes Werewolf 101. And we need to make certain that he doesn’t decide to start pack number six. We have enough packs in Beacon Hills as it is.”

The thud of the door locking into place is a final point on her sentence.

Stiles sags, and Danny and Jackson manage to hold him up. “I’m so fucking tired,” Stiles mutters. He pushes them away and uses the wall to lean against, rubbing his hand across his face. “It’s been a long day, and I haven’t slept, and now we have to deal with _that_ in our pack, and I’d say what the hell was Scott thinking, but I know what he was thinking. Scott saves people. I’m the one who—”

“Don’t finish that thought.” Danny cuts him off.

Stiles mutters something that doesn’t sound like words. He scrubs at his face again, pressing the heels of both hands against his eyes. “Maybe it’d all look better if I get some sleep. We need to find out why someone killed an entire fucking family of man-eating….” His nose wrinkles, brow furrowing. “Okay, not why. Why would be obvious. The questions is who. Who killed an entire family of man-eating monsters?” He glances at Danny, then Jackson. “Are we all monsters?”

Jackson exhales roughly. He doesn’t remember ever losing control like this when he was sleep-deprived, but then, he and Stiles are different people to begin with. “Let’s get you home so you can try to sleep.”

“You said you would loan me the dog,” Stiles grumbles, glaring at Danny. He peels himself off the wall, wavers on his feet until Jackson steps in to grab him.

Danny glances at Jackson as he takes Stiles’s other side. “I said it was up to Kula.”

There’s no anger in Danny’s scent. Maybe a little frustration, but no anger, no sorrow. Jackson can’t read Danny well enough to figure out what he’s supposed to say, but he’s pretty sure it’s okay to make a decision here. That he’s not going to fuck shit up with his boyfriend.

“We’re going to go get your shit,” Jackson says slowly. “And you’re staying at Danny’s.”

#

They drag Danny’s mattress onto the floor of his room, then pull the one from the guest room down the hall and throw it on the floor as well. They have a mishmash of sleeping bags, blankets, one huge comforter, and a pile of pillows. Stiles looks paler than ever as he lies in the middle of it.

Stiles’s expression is eerily blank as Jackson strips and tosses his clothes to the side before he lets himself melt into Kula’s fur. Jackson crawls across the bed, wedges his head under Stiles’s hand, and is relieved when fingers dig in and hold on.

“Movie.” Danny sets up his laptop, angled so they can all see it, and they curl together on the bed. Danny sits next to Stiles, their backs propped against the wall, pressed shoulder to shoulder so that Stiles has someone to lean on. Jackson sprawls across their laps, enjoys the feeling of fingers combing through his fur.

He can smell the moment when Stiles finally lets go, when the exhaustion claims him and he drifts into sleep. Danny helps Stiles slide down to lie on the mattress, then pulls Jackson to lie between them. Jackson finally falls asleep still in his fur, with both Danny and Stiles pressed against him, holding on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am using some things from season 4. :) Honestly, Liam is irresistible and I want to make Jackson have to deal with him. That's enough reason, right?? Anyway, hello and happy Sunday! Thank you so much for being here, for reading, and for the amazing, lovely comments. So much love to you all. We're in the depths of NaNo now, and as soon as I get ahead a little more in my queued posts for [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com) and finish up an assignment, I'll be cranking out the last few chapters of this fic. Remember, the first 15 chapters are already drafted, betaed, and ready to go. I'm working on getting the remaining 6 finished up!
> 
> If you want to talk or just say hi, remember, you can always find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! See you on Sunday, November 13, for the next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

It’s not bad that Stiles stays at Danny’s place for a few days. They make it through the weekend, and everyone sleeps. Stiles passes out with his arm around Jackson’s ruff, Jackson with his muzzle buried against Danny’s throat. They sleep in a pile, and Jackson feels solid and steady during the day. He watches as Stiles moves from anxious and overwrought, skin grey and pale with exhaustion, into something resembling normal. Jackson knows it’s not that easy, knows that in the depths of his dreams, the nightmares still chase Stiles down, but he seems to breathe easier after the few days spent at Danny’s.

And it does let Jackson spend more time sleeping at night, more time curled in Danny’s arms.

They just don’t have anything resembling privacy. And when Jackson wakes up human, naked, and hard while Danny nuzzles the back of his shoulder, it’s awkward as fuck to shift back to the wolf and slip out of the bed before Stiles notices. It’s also frustrating that the only relief he gets is his right hand during a hot shower.

But it’s working out, and it’s helping Stiles, and it’s not like Danny’s angry about it, so Jackson goes with it. They can survive this.

Jackson slides into the seat next to Danny at lunch, gets his lunch out before Malia can start feeding him this time. He’s halfway through a sandwich before everyone else arrives, filling the table. Liam still smells like fury, sitting at one end, glaring every time someone even glances at him. Mason drops down next to him and announces, “I’ve been reading the bestiary.”

“Say it a little louder; I’m not sure they heard you on the other side of the cafeteria,” Stiles says dryly.

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” Jackson nudges Stiles. “We knew something was up. You and Scott tend to get loud when you’re excited.”

“Sorry.” Mason makes a motion with his hand like he’s saying he’ll be quieter. His voice is a low hush when he whispers, “So, I’ve read all about kitsune, and it’s fascinating. And I read up on wendigo, because well, we need to find out what happened, right?”

“What happened is that a family of man-eating supernatural creatures is dead,” Lydia says quietly. “And I didn’t scream, which is a finer point. I need to know what triggers the scream.”

“Banshee,” Mason says. “The bestiary isn’t exactly rife with information about that.”

“I’ve noticed.” Lydia purses her lips. “None of Deaton’s sources have been helpful. I’m reaching out to people who might have more in depth information, but it’s highly likely I’ll need to translate from source material.”

“I’m learning Japanese,” Kira offers. “Mom thought maybe I should. Since sometimes I think in it accidentally now.” She wrinkles her nose. “I keep trying not to think of the kitsune as something separate from me, but really, sometimes it is. It’s awkward sharing living space with a sparky demon.”

Stiles inhales roughly, goes still. Jackson leans into him.

There’s movement on the table on Jackson’s other side, and Danny’s hand is there. Jackson smiles slightly, slides his hand close enough to touch pinky to pinky as reassurance. Danny hooks their fingers together, and Lydia coughs slightly.

“He does have a point,” Stiles finally says. “Mason does. We need to find out who killed the wendigo family, because it doesn’t matter whether they were eating people or not. The point is that someone came into Beacon Hills and killed an entire family of supernatural creatures, and well, we—” He gestures between himself and everyone else, “We’re kind of like a family of supernatural creatures. If you mean the highly extended and dysfunctional sort of family.”

“I’m not related to any of you.” Liam stabs his spaghetti with a fork. “Maybe Mason.”

“Dude, we are actually related,” Mason says quietly. “My mom is your step-dad’s sister.” He raises his hand when Liam scowls. “Okay, point taken.”

“The thing is, someone killed a whole bunch of supposed monsters—let’s give them benefit of the doubt, maybe those corpses came from the morgue—and they might decide to come after the non-human parts of this group.” Stiles circles his finger around at all of them. “So we need to find out who they are and stop it before it happens. Protect each other.”

“What about hunters?” Liam asks. He puts his fork down when everyone stares at him. “What? You guys mentioned them back at the loft, when you were talking about how he—,” he points at Isaac, “—was allied with hunters rather than a pack. So are they the people who normally kill people like us?”

“Not Chris.” Isaac’s voice is tight. “He wouldn’t, because Allison wouldn’t. And we’d know if he did. He would have said something, we would have known that he found out that the wendigo family was killing people and he had to do something. But he’s not a hunter, not like that.”

“But there are hunters like that.” Liam pushes the point.

“They are mentioned in the bestiary Scott gave me,” Mason says.

Stiles looks at Mason, leans on the table. “That bestiary was written by the Argents, who are a family of hunters. Our friend Allison got that book for us, and she made a new code. Chris Argent wouldn’t go after anyone without telling us.”

Lydia puts her phone down on a table with a thunk, and she smiles thinly when conversation stops. “I need to go. Jackson, Malia: come with me.”

Malia bounces up. “I’m not enjoying the conversation anyway. If any hunters think they’re coming after me, I’ll rip their throats out.” Her quick flash of a smile is full of teeth.

Jackson leans toward Danny, lets himself be pulled close enough for a long, slow kiss. Danny’s fingers press at the nape of Jackson’s neck, and Jackson bites back a whine, shifts in his seat because he really wants more than that. “Catch up with me,” Jackson says, and Danny nods.

Lydia leads the way down the hall, heels clacking against the floor with rapid steps as she takes them out to the courtyard. The spring air is still cool enough that no one wants to be outdoors during lunch; it gives them a place to be unobserved and unheard.

“We’re going to Peter’s after school.” Lydia’s voice is short and sharp, her scent pitched anxious. Her heart rate is high but steady, a quick thump-thump full of nerves. “I’ve told him that we need to meet with him, and I have everything we need to do a proper family test for all three of you. He doesn’t know why, yet, only that it’s imperative.”

“So we’re going to find out the truth,” Jackson says slowly. He’s not ready for this, not ready to try to wrap his head around one more change. As long as it’s _maybe_ —as long as it’s still nebulous—it’s easier to handle.

“You could invite him to the first lacrosse game on Friday,” Malia suggests. “That’s what fathers do, right? I’m not playing lacrosse.”

“I’ve already got one crappy father, I don’t need another,” Jackson snaps, breath rough in his chest. “So no, we are not inviting Peter Hale to the lacrosse match. We aren’t inviting him to set foot in this school, or anywhere near us, if we don’t have to. Seeing him last week was bad enough.”

“Agreed.” Lydia’s voice is as tight as Jackson’s breath. “The less we have to do with him, the better, but we do want our answers. Once we know, then we have the advantage.”

“How do we have the advantage if he knows what we’re testing for?” Malia’s brow wrinkles. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Lydia’s lips press into a thin, taut smile. “He abandoned you both,” she says softly. “He left two potential werewolves to fend for themselves as infants, and he will see what happened. He will spend a lifetime trying to make it up to you.”

Lydia is getting far more joy out of this than Jackson will. Jackson could happily go the rest of his lifetime without Peter interfering. He doesn’t need to be bought, and he doesn’t need another failed father figure. He’s fine on his own, and while a relative by blood is interesting, he’s got Malia. He’s accepted her as his sister and he doesn’t need anything more than that. He doesn’t need Peter.

“How do we do this?” he asks, because it’s better to know what’s happening than to let her surprise him.

“I have a kit from a source which promises confidential response with proven accuracy within one week,” Lydia says. “All we need to do is send them three clearly labeled swabs, and you’ll know whether you share DNA.”

Sound ticks up, and people move by in the hallway. Jackson spots Danny leaning against the wall, apparently carefully not looking out the window. “Fine. So we’ll meet after school and go see Peter and get his DNA. Without blood.”

“Too bad,” Malia says.

“We don’t make people bleed for fun,” Lydia says softly. “Even Peter.”

Jackson uses it as the moment to make his escape, ducking in through the door. He barely gets into the hallway when Danny grabs him, turns him around, shoves him back against a locker. The lock digs into the sharp angles of Jackson’s hip, but he doesn’t care when Danny’s kissing him, hands gripping Jackson’s sides, fingertips holding tight. Jackson whines, tilts his head to let Danny bury his face in Jackson’s throat, suck a deep mark there. It burns in all the perfect ways, and Jackson’s breath comes short again, Lydia’s plan forgotten.

“Hey,” Jackson finally manages to say when Danny withdraws, as they stand there, Danny tilted forward so they can lean, forehead to forehead.

“You looked upset,” Danny says.

“I’m better now.” Much better emotionally, although far worse physically. Jackson’s going to need to be late to class.

There’s a low, pleased giggle, then Malia’s indignant, “Stiles.”

“Come on, we’ve got math.” Stiles’s voice is firm. Jackson won’t look over, but he hears a slight scuffle and he assumes Stiles is trying to move Malia.

“I want to stay,” Malia protests. “Why can’t I watch? They’re my pack and they smell happy.”

“I don’t want to know how happy they smell.” Stiles’s mutter is loud enough for human ears, and Danny snorts, his eyes closing as he nuzzles against Jackson’s throat. “Leave them be, Malia. I don’t think they’re going to make it to class, anyway.”

The halls are emptying as Stiles finally pulls Malia away, and the bell rings. There’s one more minute before the late bell, and Danny cradles Jackson’s face, brushes a kiss against his lips. “Stiles has a point. We haven’t had any time alone in a while, and we’re already late to class. Think we’ll be missed?”

“I think I don’t care.” Whatever it is that Danny has in mind, Jackson’s up for it. Very, very up.

#

They end up in the boiler room, the late bell ringing just as they close the door on the sound. As soon as it’s silent, Danny crowds Jackson up against the wall, holds him there with his weight as he kisses him.

It feels good. It feels really good, and Jackson lets himself fall into it, losing himself in the taste of Danny’s mouth. He opens willingly under him, takes Danny’s tongue into his mouth. He manages to get his hands under Danny’s shirt, pushes it up, feels the warmth of his skin, fingers skipping over ribs and the narrow silvered scars. “Fuck,” Jackson whispers when he gets a chance to breathe.

Danny pushes his shirt down, pulls back enough to look at Jackson. He keeps one hand against Jackson’s cheek. “Leave our shirts on,” Danny cautions. “Just in case.”

“I’ll hear anyone coming.” Jackson wants to feel skin to skin, wants to let Danny press against him, merge their scents. “We’ll be fine.”

“Shirts on.” Danny’s tone is definite, his hand sliding down between them. Danny twists the button to open the fly of Jackson’s jeans, lowers the zipper. “If you hear someone, we’re going to need that time to get our pants on.”

Oh holy shit.

“Fuck.” It’s a low breath, exhaling as Jackson’s head tilts back, hits the wall. Danny’s fingers curl around Jackson’s dick, not even bothering to try to get into his underwear. Danny pulls back, twists his hand, runs the back of his fingers along the length of the ridge, and Jackson whines, hips bucking forward. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Do you really want to do this?” Danny has one hand over Jackson’s head and he leans in, looking down at him. “We could just make out. I could leave you so frustrated that you can’t think of anything else in class. I could make it so you tell Stiles that he can’t follow us home, can’t crash in our bed anymore, because you’re that desperate to get me alone.” A slow smirk curls up one corner of his mouth. “I don’t have to be supernatural to know you smell like sex, Jackson. You probably smell like sex and frustration, and so do I. Because I want you.” His fingers keep that slow motion going, just stroking along Jackson’s dick, not enough pressure to give him relief, but definitely enough to notice. “And you want me, too.”

“Oh hell yes.” Jackson curls his fingers around Danny’s head, pulls him down, kisses him hard as his hips buck up into his touch. “Don’t stop.”

And of course, Danny stops.

“What the hell?”

Danny raises both eyebrows, and his hands fall deliberately to his own jeans. He undoes the fly, pushes them down enough for Jackson to see the bulge before Danny releases his cock, strokes it slowly. There’s a drop glistening at the tip and Jackson can smell him from here. It’s enough that Jackson wants to drop to the floor, to nose in and taste him, smell him, let it rub into his skin. He starts to move, and Danny’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him upright and back against the wall. “I do you,” Danny whispers, kisses him slowly. “You do me.”

Right. Yeah. Right.

Jackson pushes Danny away from him, holds him just far enough that he can look down between them, see his hard cock. It’s dripping at the end, and when Jackson wraps his fingers around Danny, he catches the drop with his thumb, rolls it over the head. Danny twitches, and there’s a hand on Jackson’s neck, fingers at the collar. “Don’t stop,” Danny whispers, and Jackson smirks.

“Start,” Jackson suggests, and Danny pushes him back against the wall.

Danny slides his fingers under the waistband of Jackson’s underwear, uses his knuckles to push the fabric down and tug his cock out. Jackson is hard-pressed to stay focused on the slide of his own hand over Danny’s cock when Danny’s teasing him, moving in slow motion as he strokes Jackson.

Danny leans into him, straddles one of Jackson’s legs as he kisses him. Jackson groans, because it’s almost too easy and too much. He shifts his hips, fucks into the tight circle of Danny’s fingers. Whines his name on a low breath.

“Yeah,” Danny murmurs, sucking a mark just above the collar. His hand moves faster, and Jackson tries to match the pace, tries to get Danny off before he goes over the cliff himself. Danny’s fingers twist, tug at the collar as Danny whispers, “So good. Come on, come on.”

And that’s it. That gentle wish, that gentle urging, and Jackson cries out, body bowed as his eyes close and he feels the orgasm tight in his thighs before he spurts his scent all over Danny’s hand. He tightens his grip, manages one more stroke before Danny’s teeth tighten on Jackson’s neck and Jackson feels wet, sticky fluid covering him.

It smells like sex and them and it’s amazing.

Jackson’s breath comes back to normal slowly, Danny’s weight anchoring him there against the wall. He looks up, tugs Danny close for a slow kiss. There are words, Jackson thinks, words that express how much more this is than a boiler room hookup. Words that say that he needed this, that he needs to be this close to Danny, that this is an important part of them. There are words, and all the ones that come to mind don’t mean enough.

“We’re going to have to clean up,” Danny points out, lifting his hand, a trail of sticky white across his fingers. Jackson kisses his hand, pulls Danny close and refuses to move.

“Later. We’ve still got plenty of time before the next class, and I’m not ready to go anywhere yet.” There’s no pack down here, no teachers, no drama. It’s just Danny and Jackson, and Jackson wants to keep it that way. At least for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy Sunday. If you've had a rough week (I know I have), I hope that you have managed to find at least some moments of pleasure within recent days. For some good news on my side, I have started work again on this story, and just turned in chapter 16 to my beta yesterday. It's my hope that over the next two weeks, as part of my push for NaNo words, I will finish the draft of the remaining five chapters. After that, it all depends on my beta, and my time to fix things after her edits. Once the entire 21 chapters are in the can, I will switch to posting twice a week (Sundays and Wednesdays) so cross your fingers for swift words and editing!
> 
> In the meantime, Jackson and Danny get closer, and Jackson and Malia work towards solving the issues of their parentage. And next week we will be back on Sunday, November 20th, with the new chapter. See you then! If you want to find me before then, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) where you can talk to me, see me ramble about fandom or writing, or find out more about my original web serial that posts twice weekly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes, the place where this chapter ends is so far from where it begins. In a good way, trust me.

Peter opens the door, a smirk on his lips, a pleased scent suffusing the air around him. Irritation rises quickly, the smile dropping away, twisting his mouth into a moue of displeasure. “You brought friends.”

“Did I neglect to mention how many of us there would be? How stupid of me to omit that detail.” Lydia crosses her arms and tilts her head, both eyebrows rising.

Peter stands there in the opening, blocking the way in. Jackson pushes past him, shouldering him out of the way while making space for Malia and Lydia to follow. The light thunk as Peter closes the door behind them feels like the closing of a jail cell. Jackson feels the tension from Lydia and slides closer to her, his arm around her shoulder.

“I don’t bite,” Peter says dryly.

“No, that wouldn’t help anymore, since you’re not an Alpha,” Malia points out. “But you can still manipulate people and you’re an asshole.”

“A common occurrence in those around you,” Peter retorts, and Malia grins sharply.

“Yes, but I like _them_.” Her smile widens, her canines pointed.

“Fence later, business first,” Lydia says flatly.

“I don’t want to be here longer than we have to be,” Jackson grumbles.

“And I wasn’t prepared for so many guests. I’d envisioned something more intimate.”

Malia draws back, steps closer to Lydia. “No.”

“Feisty.” Peter’s smirk curls his lip, baring just a hint of teeth. Jackson shudders, repulsed.

“We need your DNA.”

Peter’s eyebrows rise at Lydia’s matter-of-fact statement. “And it takes an entire party to retrieve it? I’m beginning to think the intimate—”

“No.” Malia cuts him off before he can finish. “Don’t even think that.”

“You asked me to find someone, and I did.” Lydia’s voice remains carefully even. “I found two, actually. You’re welcome.”

“Ah. This.” He hides it well, but Jackson hears the uptick in Peter’s heart rate. “And they are aware.”

“That you might be our biological father? Yes.” Jackson’s voice is tight. “We’re aware. And we know Lydia already mentioned Malia to you once, so don’t act as if this is entirely a surprise. I know you were waiting for the perfect time for a reveal.”

“Yet another thing spoiled by you meddling kids.” Peter walks away, finds something to do in the kitchenette. It leaves his back to them—a vulnerability—but it also masks his expression, leaving only scent and heart for Jackson to read. “So, tell me how you arrived at this particular offering. You never did explain.” He casts a glance back at them. “In your defense, we were all rather busy at the time.”

“My first evidence was primarily circumstantial. Looks, for one. The cheekbones, the shape of the face, the inherent body language they both seem to possess,” Lydia says. “And of course, Malia became a coyote and spent several years living in the Preserve. The full shift is a rare trait, and one passed along the Hale line. Although you can’t, can you?”

It’s a subtle dig, and Peter’s shoulders go tense. “No, I can’t.”

“Jackson can.” Lydia twists the knife. “No one knew he was in Beacon Hills because he was a wolf. In fact, they became pack as coyote and wolf.”

Peter lays out a cutting board, takes down an apple and cuts it in half with one quick swipe. Jackson glances at Malia as Peter doesn’t respond, raises one eyebrow. Malia shrugs, shakes her head.

“And he looks like you.” Lydia drops the point as if it’s the grand finale, and on that, Peter turns around, gaze narrowed and head cocked.

Peter stalks over to them, takes Jackson’s chin in his hand and twists his head up. Jackson growls and backs up quickly, shrugging off Peter’s touch. “Look your fill, but don’t touch,” he snarls.

“I see.” Peter’s voice is soft, low. There’s a distance to it, a wistful tilt as he shifts his attention to Malia, observes her for a long moment. “Fine. You can have my DNA. I consent to the test.”

“Pity, I was hoping we’d have to take it.” Malia holds out her hand, takes the swab that Lydia hands to her. Another swab goes to Peter, and one to Jackson as well.

Lydia uses Jackson to demonstrate how to swab the inside of their cheeks, then enclose the swab in the little case, and drop it into a bag to be sealed. Each one is labeled before they go into a padded envelope, which Lydia tucks in her bag. “We can go now,” she says, patting the side of her bag.

“No time to visit? Pity. I could spend time getting to know my children.” Peter’s voice is idle, but there’s an intensity to his gaze that makes Jackson uncomfortable.

“I don’t think so,” Jackson says.

“I have information.”

Lydia reaches out, grabs Malia’s wrist before she can open the door. “Fine. Talk. But this isn’t social hour.”

“Are you aware that there are hunters in Beacon Hills?” Peter sinks down to sit in one of the two chairs in his living room. He gestures at the sofa, waits until Lydia, Malia, and Jackson arrange themselves there before he leans forward and continues speaking. “They are officially investigating the deaths of Victoria and Allison Argent.” He tsks softly. “Hunters don’t look well on the deaths of their own.”

“How do you know?” Lydia’s foot bounces slightly where she has her feet crossed neatly at the ankles.

“I recognized the crest when I ran into one and I investigated, of course,” Peter says. “I’ve stayed out of their way. However, I’m absolutely certain that Satomi is aware that they are here.”

Lydia’s foot goes still. Jackson covers her hand with his, squeezes slightly. “Satomi,” she repeats.

“Alpha Satomi Ito,” Peter says, as if it’s obvious. “You’ve crossed paths with several of her pack members. I’d think you’d have met her by now.”

And just like that, there’s another pack in Beacon Hills.

“Six,” Lydia mutters, and swears under her breath.

Malia’s nose is wrinkled. “He smells like nerves. He’s trying to manipulate us. We should go.”

Jackson won’t argue that point—he wants to get out of Peter’s apartment, far away from the man who might be his birth father. He rises, offers Lydia his hand and doesn’t give it up once she’s standing. He sees Malia take Lydia’s other hand, and they stand there for a moment, united against Peter.

Lydia’s voice is light. “I’ll let you know when we receive the results. Don’t worry, we’ll see ourselves out.”

“Give my regards to our True Alpha,” Peter calls after them.

Because of course they have to go talk to Scott now. There are six packs in Beacon Hills, and hunters out for vengeance. It just keeps getting more complicated.

#

Jackson lets Malia take the front seat in Lydia’s car, using his time alone in the back seat to text Danny. _We got Peter’s DNA. And now he knows. He told us there are other hunters in Beacon Hills, and another pack. On our way to Scott’s._

It takes time before a response comes back. _Coach wondered where you were during practice. I said sick. He said you’d better not give it to me. Do you need a ride home from Scott’s?_

Jackson glances at the rear view mirror, with a reflection of Lydia’s thin, set lips. _I think Lydia will bring me home. I’ll see you soon._

He tucks the phone in his pocket, closes his eyes for the rest of the short ride.

Stiles’s Jeep is in Scott’s driveway. Jackson passes by it on his way to the door, runs his hand along the baby blue door as he passes by. He shoves his hands in his pockets when Malia turns to look at him, stays behind the girls when they head into the house.

“It’s hunters,” Lydia says, not bothering with preliminaries. “And Peter knew they were here and didn’t say a word about them the other night.”

“We don’t know that hunters killed—” Scott stutters to a stop in the face her glare. “You’re right; it’s the most probable option.”

“Yes. It is.” Her words are sharp. “But that’s not the biggest news. Scott, were you aware that there is yet another pack in Beacon Hills? Because apparently this is common knowledge to Peter, which means it may well be common knowledge for Derek as well. Who hasn’t said a word about this to any of us.”

Scott’s confusion would be funny if it weren’t for the way Stiles is absolutely silent standing behind him. Stiles’s hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and his skin is paler than usual, moles bright against the light background. Jackson makes a small noise, and Stiles glances up, looks away.

Jackson circles behind Scott, moves to stand next to Stiles.

“You need to contact Derek.” Lydia taps Scott’s chest. “And you need to get in touch with Satomi Ito. Apparently we already know some of her pack members.”

“Which means just like the Alpha pack, they’re moving around among us without us realizing,” Stiles says slowly.

“Not Mason.” Jackson’s sure of it. “I haven’t met anyone who I would say is a werewolf recently, but there are a lot of people at the school. There could be others.”

“If Satomi knows about the hunters, why didn’t she tell us?” Scott shakes his head. “This doesn’t make sense. Are you sure Peter isn’t just trying to make trouble?”

“Unless she’s trying to throw us under the bus.” Stiles shrugs. “What? It’s what I’d do. Let the hunters go after the other pack in town while she stays safe.”

His heart’s still ratcheted up, little quick raps of noise that Jackson can hear all too clearly.

“Why are there hunters here now?” Scott asks. “This is Argent territory, and Chris is still here.”

“But Victoria and Allison aren’t.” Lydia’s voice softens, a low sigh slipping out as Stiles takes a step backward, sinking in on himself. “Stiles….”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Lydia counters.

“I can help.” Malia comes in close behind Stiles, wraps her arms around his chest and nuzzles against his shoulder. “We’re pack now, right? Pack cuddles. I’ll take you home and give you popcorn and ice cream and movies. I have a lot of movies.”

“Danny and I have it covered.” Jackson’s voice is sharper than he means it to be. Stiles doesn’t look at him, but Malia’s smile is amused.

“You and Danny skipped class and smelled like sex,” she says. “You need alone time. I know how to do this. You took care of me, and I can take care of Stiles.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles manages to get a hand up, holds it out in front of him. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Scott, I’ll just take Malia home. I’ll see the rest of you guys tomorrow.”

“Text me if you need to.” Jackson can’t stop smelling him, can’t ignore the rank scent of sorrow and guilt that comes off of Stiles in waves. “I’ll be up.”

“You’ll be busy.”

It’s probably true, but now that everything’s been worked out, Jackson can make time for Stiles. It’ll be okay.

“Don’t worry. We’ll talk until midnight, and then we’ll sleep. It’ll be fine.” Malia ushers Stiles to the door, pulls it open. Her tone is perfectly serious as she tells him, “You need to sleep and I have ideas to help you. I can’t turn into a coyote though, so you’re stuck with me as I am.”

“What just happened?” Scott asks in the silence that falls after they leave.

“Malia adopted Stiles, and Stiles consented,” Lydia says, a small smile tilting her lips. “Which is an improvement from her punching him, so we should probably take it as a good first step.”

“We had it covered,” Jackson mutters, pulling away when Lydia pats his arm. She follows, touching until he looks at her, then she lets her hand fall away.

“You can’t be the protective brother, Jackson,” she says solemnly. “Malia is her own person, and she can make her own decisions. I’ve talked to her about how to take care of herself, and I know Kira’s done the same.”

Scott’s eyes go wide. “Malia and Kira have talked about—” He cuts off abruptly, and Lydia smirks.

“Yes, boys, we girls do talk about that sort of thing. Malia will be fine, Jackson.”

That’s not it.

That’s not it at all, but Jackson can’t figure out how to put it into words. He twists away, stalks to the door and yanks it open. He pauses in the doorway, doesn’t bother looking back. “Let me know what Derek says,” he grumbles. “I want to know about this other pack. If Peter’s up to something, I want to know what it is.”

He makes it into the driveway before he realizes that he’s alone. He turns back towards the house, arms crossed, and shouts, “I need a ride, Lydia.”

“I’m not your chauffeur,” she calls back.

The front door stays open, but he refuses to listen to the conversation as Lydia makes him wait another twenty minutes while she talks to Scott. Jackson leans against her car, arms crossed, staring at the sky and trying to ignore everything else around him.

#

“Maybe it’s because she sees him as pack now.” Danny lifts one end of the mattress while Jackson lifts the other. When they drop it back onto his bed frame, there’s a soft thunk that echoes inside of Jackson. He frowns at the now empty floor while Danny tries to spread out the sheets and comforter. “Help me out with this.”

Jackson grabs the edge of the comforter, lifts it and shakes it a bit to help smooth out the wrinkles as he tugs it into place. He can still smell Stiles on the sheets and it bothers him to have that mixed in with his and Danny’s scents. “Lydia thinks it’s an improvement over her punching him,” he mutters.

“It is. And it’s also a cross-tie between packs.” Danny comes around behind Jackson, wraps his arms around him from behind and kisses just behind his ear. “It’s like we don’t have packs, we have mutable spiderwebs that are slowly getting more entangled. Malia will be fine.”

Jackson grunts, because that’s still not it.

“Stiles will be fine,” Danny says after a moment. “If he needs something, he’ll text you at midnight like he always does. He’s been sleeping better, and Malia will cuddle the hell out of him, I’m sure, if that’s what he needs. She knows how to be pack as a coyote, and she knows how to be pack with humans. They’ll be fine.”

It’s not reassuring.

Danny tangles his fingers in Jackson’s hair, and Jackson tilts his head to go with the tug, letting Danny nuzzle in close to the side of his throat. Danny nips at soft skin, then tugs at his earlobe.

It’s distracting, which is probably what Danny’s aiming for.

It’s also really fucking arousing.

“My parents are out. Dinner, movie, coffee after probably.” Danny finds a spot on Jackson’s shoulder and sucks a small mark there. Jackson can feel the rush of blood under his skin—probably as it heals—and it feels good. “Which means you and I are alone. Completely alone, with an actual bed and several hours before we have to worry about being interrupted.” Danny pulls back, lets Jackson go. “Not that I’m suggesting anything.”

It’s not a point Jackson wants to ignore. He skins off his shirt, tosses it into the laundry, while he toes off his shoes. He has his hands on his open fly when he pauses to look at Danny, raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me to get dressed again?”

Danny has his arms crossed, just watching Jackson. “Definitely not. Keep going.”

Jackson has undressed in front of Danny hundreds of times. He’s slept in his bed without clothes, waking up after starting the night as Kula. Hell, they had their hands on each others’ dicks earlier that day. But right now, as he pushes his jeans and underwear down at the same time, then sits on the bed to pull off his socks, he feels strangely naked.

He smirks to hide the insecurity, stands again slowly and spreads his hands. “See, I always told you I was your type.”

“You are exactly my type, asshole.” Danny puts both hands on Jackson’s chest and shoves, pushing him back until the bed hits his legs. “Sit down, and lean back on your hands.” Danny slides one hand up his chest, hooks a finger in Jackson’s collar and tugs lightly before he pushes again.

Jackson does as he says, his knees spreading naturally as he sits. Danny sinks down to kneel between his legs, one hand on each thigh, pushing them gently apart to make space for himself. Danny presses a kiss to the inside of Jackson’s knee, and Jackson feels the touch in his groin, his cock twitching slightly as it fills with blood.

It shouldn’t feel this good, should it? He’s gotten head before. As Lydia often reminded him when they were together, she took care of him. And she was good at it. But he’s anticipating the touch of Danny’s tongue more than he ever thought about hers. As he watches Danny press light kisses up the inside of his thigh, Jackson groans, shifts forward more on the edge of the bed until Danny stops him.

Danny pushes back against his thighs. “Stay still.” Danny looks up at him, a slow smile starting. “I am going to take you apart, Jackson, and all you are going to do is sit there. Make all the noise you want—no one’s going to hear. But you can’t control how fast this happens, and if you try, I’m going to stop. So sit there—or lie down if you want—and let me get you off.”

There is no way in hell Jackson is going to lie down. Not when Danny is right there, nuzzling in closer and closer with kisses to sensitive skin. Danny captures him with his hand first, a soft grip that’s too loose to do more than tantalize. Jackson groans, shifts his hips slightly, and Danny stops moving.

Fuck.

Jackson closes his eyes for a moment, does his best to hold still. A soft lick at the tip of his cock, tongue swirling around the tip, and Jackson’s eyes fly open. He stares down at Danny, watches avidly as Danny lets the head of his cock pass his lips, as he swallows him just barely, then lets him slip out again. Jackson whines, and Danny smiles around him, takes him deeper in on the next slide of his mouth, and oh God, that feels so good.

“Don’t stop,” Jackson begs, his fingers curling to dig into the sheets. He holds on, tries to anchor himself there so he doesn’t slide off the bed, so he doesn’t thrust his hips, trying to fuck into Danny’s mouth.

Danny has one hand under Jackson’s balls, the other at the base of his cock, slowly stroking in time with the movement of his mouth. It’s hot, wet, and Danny’s made sure that it’s tight, too. Danny looks up at him, pupils wide, as he moves slowly along Jackson’s cock, taking him until Jackson feels the press at the back of Danny’s throat. And he holds him there, Danny’s gaze locked on Jackson’s, until Jackson gives in, twitches his hips.

Danny pulls back and drives forward again, tongue flat against the underside of Jackson’s dick. Jackson’s fascinated, watching the way Danny’s lips stretch, the way he watches Jackson in return. Jackson can smell his own musk, can smell the way Danny’s desire is rising as well, the scent partly hidden by the fact that Danny’s still clothed. And _fuck_ , Danny’s still fully dressed, his t-shirt rucked up a bit, his jeans tight across the visible ridge of his cock. Jackson wants to touch, to taste, to bury his face between Danny’s legs and inhale that scent deeply.

“Please,” Jackson whispers, and Danny picks up the pace, pulls back and swallows him again. He pulls off completely, stroking Jackson’s slick cock, and Jackson risks moving, hips jerking slightly. Tension builds in Jackson’s thighs; it’s too hard to stay still and he thrusts again in shallow motion. “Fuck, Danny, please….” He trails off into a low whimper as Danny’s tongue flicks over the head of his cock, pressing against the hole, teasing all around the head. His legs are quivering as he hangs on the edge, desperate for release, for whatever relief Danny will give him.

Danny pulls back again, strokes Jackson’s cock, slick with spit. He meets Jackson’s gaze and he slowly smiles. “Please?” Danny asks, his hand rolling over the head, slick and wet and tight.

“Just… please….” Jackson’s brain is fogged, words not seeming to work for him. He sees Danny open his mouth, feels the flick of his tongue combined with the wet, slick slide of his hand, and his hips jerk again. There’s a touch behind his balls, a stroke along the sensitive space between his balls and his ass, and it’s just too much. There’s no time to warn Danny as Jackson falls off the edge, his thighs tensing as his dick twitches and spurts thick, musky fluid across Danny’s tongue and chin.

Danny pulls back slightly, strokes Jackson through his orgasm, stripes across his shoulders and chest, his hand sticky and wet. Jackson falls back on his elbows, body limp in the aftermath.

Danny stands long enough to strip, then falls down on the bed next to Jackson, pulling him close with one wet hand pressed against his chest. “Someday I want to see how many times I can take you to the edge without letting you come.”

“You’re an asshole.” It’s still hard to make words, and Jackson’s eyes are closed. He manages to move one hand, drops it on Danny’s shoulder, lightly stroking down his arm.

“I am an asshole who just gave you the best orgasm of your life,” Danny counters.

Jackson can’t argue with that, just sighs. “Fuck.”

“Eventually.” Danny doesn’t sound like he’s in a rush to get there. He shifts, though, throws a leg over Jackson so his hips press against the meat of Jackson’s thigh. Another shift, and Jackson feels the slide of Danny’s hard cock along his skin.

Jackson lets his hand fall there, uses his thumb to spread the small droplet at the tip, and smells the fresh rush of musk.

“Yes, I’m still hard as a rock.” Danny sounds amused. “Think maybe you want to return the favor?”

“Yeah.” Jackson rolls up and over, straddles Danny and presses down with his hips. His own cock is still half-hard, wet with spit and come, and he slides easily against him. Danny thrusts up, seeking more friction, as his hand falls to cradle Jackson’s head. Jackson lets his head fall forward, and Danny takes the hint, lets his fingers fit beneath the collar like that’s where they belong.

Maybe they do. It feels so right for them to be there.

Jackson can smell his own scent on Danny’s skin, kisses away the spot of liquid at the corner of Danny’s mouth. He follows the trail along his chin, down his throat to his collarbone. He laves the skin clean, lapping up his own taste mixed with Danny, sucking small spots and delighting in the way Danny tries to thrust under him.

When Danny nudges, grips the collar and pushes him downward, Jackson goes, kissing every bit of skin along his way. He nips at Danny’s nipples, kisses the scars along his sides, then trails his tongue across his abdomen. They readjust as Jackson slides off the edge of the bed, and Danny sits up, his knees dangling over the edge. It lets him spread his legs, lets him hold onto Jackson with both hands, fingers curled under his collar, guiding him to Danny’s cock.

Jackson presses his nose into the warmth of the crease of Danny’s thigh, licks sweat from his skin and tastes the rising musk. He captures Danny’s dick in his hand, carefully lifts it and his balls, presses kisses just behind where the scent is strongest. He’s tempted to keep going to urge Danny back and lick until he’s sopping wet, but Danny tugs gently and Jackson looks up to meet Danny’s gaze.

“Please,” Danny says, and Jackson guides Danny’s cock into his mouth, feels the first salty, bitter drop on his tongue. Danny’s hands are tight against the nape of Jackson’s neck and he tugs him forward as he thrusts, and Jackson closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

It’s sloppy. He didn’t think it could be sloppier than anything else he’s done, but he’s drooling, his mouth full of spit, Danny’s dick dripping as he sucks it down. Jackson goes slow at first, bobbing his head, trying to take Danny in until he gags and his eyes water. He tries again, and this time he manages it, taking Danny all the way in, almost choking himself but it’s worth it. His nose is pressed to Danny’s skin, and Danny’s fingers scrabble at Jackson’s skin, his collar, his hair. Danny pulls and Jackson lets his cock slip out, kisses wetly down the side, then licks back to the tip again.

He wants to explore everything, taste every bit of skin that he can. Jackson captures one of Danny’s balls in his mouth, soaks it as he cradles it, then sucks again when Danny groans. He goes where Danny guides him, taking him as deep as he can when Danny’s hips thrust up, a single finger curled in the collar, holding him in place.

It’s easy to get lost in the sensation, surrounded by their mixed scents, high on the smell of arousal thick in the air around them. Jackson’s hard again, and he drops his left hand down, awkward jerking himself off as he clings to Danny’s thigh with his other hand, balancing himself while he fucks his mouth down onto Danny’s cock. He looks up to see Danny watching him, pupils blown, one hand in the collar while the other cradles Jackson’s face. Danny’s breath is short, ragged, and Jackson tries again to take him deep as he swallows involuntarily.

There’s a sharp cry, then a rush of bitter scent, fluid in Jackson’s throat that he swallows quickly in surprise. It’s bitter and salty and overwhelming; his eyes water. He pulls back, and there’s a splash across his cheek, another on his lips.

Danny yanks him to his feet, and Jackson falls onto him, kissing him deeply to taste their mingled fluid. Danny tugs at the collar as Jackson shifts his hips, and this time the orgasm feels like falling into the abyss, just a few jerks of his dick, wet and sticky between them as Jackson comes.

Danny’s hand slides free, flattens against the nape of Jackson’s neck, light and possessive and comforting. There are no words, but Jackson doesn’t need them. The world seems quiet and peaceful, wrapped in the synchronized soft thud of their hearts, perfect and safe for the both of them. Jackson slides to the side so his weight doesn’t crush Danny, and they curl into each other, holding on and floating in the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for alone time for Danny and Jackson! It's a snowy Sunday where I am, and this is something nice to counteract the cold. :) Hope y'all have enjoyed. Thank you for your lovely comments, and for following along so far. So much love for everyone! In writing news, I've drafted chapters 18-19 this week, done light editing on chapters 16-17, and I'm hoping to finish up the last two chapters in the next few days. Then all that's left is betaing and first round edits on the final two chapters, then the remaining heavy edits. What does this mean for you? Well...
> 
> Right now, I'm saying the next part will post on Sunday, November 27th. However, there is a possibility that I will post the next part on Wednesday, November 23rd. We will be going to two times per week posting as soon as I get the chapters finalized. So keep your fingers crossed for a productive few days here! And in the meantime please feel free to come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! New schedule. See notes below.

Malia keeps smiling at Jackson, even in math. It’s disconcerting, and he’s not sure he wants to know what’s going through her mind at the moment. Jackson does his best to ignore it, walking through the hall toward lunch, his fingers threaded together with Danny’s as they move through the crowds.

Jackson sinks into his seat at the table while Danny leaves his bag on the seat before he heads up to buy something to eat. Stiles drops into the seat on Jackson’s other side, his shoulder bumping him as Stiles adjusts to the seat. There’s a low sound, and a wince with a fresh rush of pain in the air, along with old, dried blood.

Jackson’s brow furrows. “What the hell, Stiles?” He leans closer, inhales deeply. Blood, definitely blood and definitely belonging to Stiles. Nothing fresh. A little pain. No exhaustion, though, which Jackson has to think is good. Except. Blood is almost never good.

“It’s fine,” Stiles mutters, ripping open a brown bag and spilling plastic-wrapped packages of food across the space in front of him. He unwraps a sandwich, takes a big bite, gaze narrowing as he looks at Jackson. “I said it’s fine,” he reiterates around a mouthful of food.

“You don’t smell fine.” Jackson can see Scott, Lydia, and Malia heading toward them, and he knows Kira won’t be far behind. Danny’s still in line for food, and Stiles keeps wincing every time he moves. Jackson wraps his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, relieved when that, at least, doesn’t seem to make things worse. “Come with me. We’re going to talk.”

They brush by Kira on their way out, and she makes a startled sound as Stiles assures her they’ll be right back. In the hall, Jackson yanks Stiles into a quiet space off to one side, pushes him back against the wall and smells fresh pain when he does. Jackson puts his hands on the wall next to Stiles’s shoulder, leans in and tastes his scent in the air.

“If you start molesting me, people are going to think you’re cheating on Danny.” Stiles gets his hands flat against Jackson’s chest and pushes him back. “Which—attractive as you are when you’re not being a raging asshole—is not going to happen. Besides….”

That’s… Jackson leans in again, then backpedals quickly as he catches the scent lingering under the dried blood and fresh soap. “You’re having sex with Malia.” It twists in his gut, leaves him anxious and upset. His tongue flicks out, wets his lips, and he stares at Stiles. “You slept with her last night.”

“She made it pretty clear that sleep was what was on the agenda when we left,” Stiles quips, tone short and sharp. “And yes, we had sex, which is absolutely none of your business, considering according to Malia you did the same thing while skipping class yesterday.”

“Not the point,” Jackson says.

“Then why is it the point for me?” Stiles shakes his head. “Leave it, Jackson. I don’t even know what you’re so upset about. Malia can make her own decisions.”

“I’m not trying to protect Malia!” Jackson’s voice is louder than he means it to be, and he hears that sudden silence in the hall filled with curious heartbeats that means other people are listening. He shudders through a long exhale. “Look, I know Malia’s her own person. I know she’s got her own attitudes, and she’s old enough to make her own decisions. She’s not a coyote anymore, and she’s aware how human relationships work. That’s not it.”

“Does she really get relationships? Never mind. I know you’ve been feeding her a steady diet of romcoms.” Stiles closes his eyes, presses his lips together. “So what is the problem, Jackson? Why are we out here?”

“You’re hurt.” Jackson’s voice is flat. He crosses his arms, because he might reach out to touch the place where he can smell blood, try to take the pain away. Because this is something he could actually fix.

Stiles flushes bright red. “Well, yeah, sleeping with Malia is very different from sleeping with you and Danny. For one, no one was furry. For two, we were both very naked, and she’s incredibly enthusiastic and might have a small problem with claws when she gets excited. Which I didn’t mind at the time. We were all in—both of us. Consent discussed and enthusiastically given. It was just—a bit rough.”

There’s an undertone to Stiles’s scent now, something other than the pain. Jackson inhales and holds it in his mouth before he lets the air slide to his lungs, tries to tease out the new emotion. “You’re not happy about it.”

“Oh, I’m happy about having sex,” Stiles is quick to say. “Believe me, loss of virginity is everything I was expecting. I’m just—”

Jackson glares at him. “Out with it.”

“Fuck you.” The words have no heat, and Stiles pushes past him. “It’s none of your business. It was rough, and that’s fine, because if it happens again, it’ll be better. We’ll figure it out.”

“But?”

Stiles stops in the hall, turns back with hands spread. “Maybe I’m not sure that fucking me hard enough that I pass out is the right solution. Is this how you do pack cuddles, Jackson?”

“Not with Malia.” The words slip out before Jackson thinks about them, and Stiles laughs sharply.

“Yeah, well, I can see where she gets the idea. She says you and Danny reek of it today.”

There’s something more to it, something Stiles still isn’t saying, but Stiles is also backing up, putting space between them. “I’m fine,” Stiles says again. “Whether you believe me or not, I’m fine. Everything’s good today.”

It isn’t. That’s the one thing Jackson’s certain of, is that when Stiles says he’s fine, he’s lying. He’s just not sure why.

#

Malia makes space for Stiles at the table, and Danny slides over to make space for Jackson as well. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, pulls out an apple and takes a bite and lets the others talk.

“I sent off the package last night,” Lydia says, not bothering to elaborate more than that. “Scott, did you do anything with the information we found out?”

“I talked to Satomi.” Scott’s voice is somber. “She knew about us. I guess she used to know the Hales, and they had separate territories within Beacon County. But she says we should meet, because those territories are overlapping now.”

Lydia smiles tightly. “We need to meet her as a unified pack. We need to get our shit together—all of us, and yes, I noticed that Liam and Mason aren’t at lunch with us today. I don’t care that the full moon is coming next week, I don’t care that people might be cranky. I don’t care about anyone’s personal shit going on. We need to deal with this before it explodes in our faces.”

The table is silent, and in the aftermath of her words, Scott clears his throat. “I made a meeting with her tonight,” he says quietly. “We’re meeting her at the park on the corner of Prospect and Congress. We thought it would be a good neutral place, because our pack—if we are one pack—is kind of big, and she said she’ll bring representatives from her pack. And it’s neutral, right on the border between the territories.”

“That’s the park that’s the dividing line between Beacon Hills High and Beacon County Central,” Stiles muses.

“So we need to meet after school.” Scott keeps talking, even while Stiles pulls out a notebook and starts scribbling something. “All of us. I’ll make sure Liam and Mason get there, and I’ll text Derek.”

“We don’t need Peter,” Malia offers. “I don’t think he belongs in any pack.”

“He’s still Derek’s uncle,” Stiles says.

“I don’t care.” Malia crosses her arms. “I don’t care who he shares blood with. He’s a jerk, and he’s got a thing about Lydia, which is just weird.”

Jackson has to agree with Malia. He doesn’t like Peter at all. On the other hand, he meets Lydia’s gaze, and he knows what she’s thinking. “We need to include him, because if we leave him out, he becomes a problem,” Jackson says slowly. “We need to keep him close. Keep an eye on him.”

“Keep him out of trouble,” Lydia says firmly. “I’ll make sure he’s there. Until we get our results, he’s going to want to be involved. Probably even moreso after.”

“I take back what I said about inviting him to lacrosse games,” Malia grumbles.

“Why are we inviting Peter to lacrosse games?” Kira wrinkles her nose, confused. “Is this still about figuring out who’s pack?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Lydia pushes back from the table. “I know you have practice today after school. We’re meeting on the field, after you clean up, and before we meet with Satomi Ito. In the meantime, Stiles, find out everything you can about her. Danny, if she has any traces online, we want them. Scott, you deal with Derek, leave Liam and Mason to me. We will be unified when we meet Satomi tonight. One pack. Don’t even try to think otherwise.” She meets Jackson’s gaze. “If anyone has problems with that concept, get over it. For the benefit of your pack.”

“Lydia should be alpha,” Malia muses as Lydia walks away, shoes a series of sharp staccato notes on the floor. “She’s organized.”

“I think by the end of the night, we’ll all have our place in the pack,” Stiles murmurs.

Malia leans toward him, slides her hand over his. “Want to go make out before class? That was fun last night.”

“I missed something,” Kira says softly.

Danny tugs at Jackson’s hand, pulls him away from the table. It’s only five minutes before the first bell rings, but it gives them time to find a spot in the hall to lazily kiss. Danny reassures Jackson with light touches, a soft caress at his throat. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, and Jackson doesn’t try to explain, just falls into the space that Danny offers him.

#

By the time they arrive at Prospect Park, they are nominally one pack. Scott leads the way into the park with Derek walking by his right hand, Lydia by his left. Liam, Kira, Malia, Isaac, and Jackson walk in a row behind them, and it bothers Jackson that he can’t walk side by side with Danny. The humans follow—Chris Argent, Danny, Stiles, and Mason—and Peter trails along in their wake, a part of the pack but only adjacent, allowed under sufferance that he does nothing against them.

Jackson doesn’t trust him, and isn’t sure he ever will.

It doesn’t feel any different than it did at lunch. They are still fractured in their own way, with alliances and allegiances within this pack. Scott didn’t ask for any grand declarations of fealty, and no one offered one. But with Scott clearly allied with Derek, and Lydia acting on their behalf, Jackson can’t avoid being involved. He may not want to refer to Scott McCall as his Alpha, but at the same time, he has to accept that in some ways, he is.

It’s not an entirely terrible situation to be in.

Satomi Ito waits for them under the pavilion, standing in front of the picnic tables. She’s a small, elderly Asian woman, and she stands with her arms loose at her side, her stance easy. She’s unassuming, easy to overlook, but as soon as they draw close, Jackson can taste the power in the air around her. He has no idea how she’s doing it, but she feels like an Alpha, and Scott’s eyes flare in response.

She smiles slightly. “Alpha McCall.”

“And the McCall-Hale pack,” Scott says easily. He stops and they ring around him, watchful and wary. “This is Derek Hale, my second, and Lydia Martin.”

“The Banshee,” Satomi says. “We are aware of your presence in Beacon Hills. I knew your grandmother, once upon a time.” A small huff of sound. “I knew the elder Kitsune as well, and the Hales. We should have met long before this.”

“I didn’t know you were still in Beacon County,” Derek admits. “I was gone for a long time, and we haven’t had a lot of time for formalities.”

“I understand.” Satomi gestures, and people step out of the shadows.

Liam growls loudly, steps forward and Isaac and Jackson catch him as his eyes glow yellow.

Satomi’s smile is knowing. “I believe your young beta knows some of my own. My second was unable to make it—she is home, expecting twins within the month. These are some of the younger members of our pack. Hayden Romero, who attends your school, and her sister, Valerie Clark, who is employed as a deputy of Beacon Hills.”

Stile coughs, choking slightly.

“Brett Talbot, and his sister Lori; I believe your beta may know them as well, from when he attended Devenford Prep.”

“I really do enjoy the view,” Mason murmurs, staring at Brett. “No offense, guys, but seriously. Are you seeing this?”

“I can hear you,” Brett says, one eyebrow going up.

“Since when is Liam a werewolf?” Hayden asks sharply. “What were you thinking? Do you know who he is? Have you seen his temper? You’d better lock him up on the full moon; he’ll never manage to stay in control.”

“Hayden.” Satomi’s voice is solid, not sharp, but Hayden backs down immediately. “You’ll forgive my beta,” Satomi murmurs. “She has known your beta since they were young.”

Liam growls low in his throat.

“Quiet.” Scott’s voice has that same note, and Liam goes silent. Jackson curls one hand around Liam’s upper arm, pulls him back a few steps to fall in line again with Malia, Kira, and Isaac. Scott smiles slightly. “I will forgive your beta if you forgive mine. He’s new, and still learning.”

There’s a pause as Satomi considers Liam, then nods. “Of course.” She motions to the tables. “Why don’t we sit? We have much to discuss.”

They don’t seem to need to stay in specific lines anymore, so Jackson finds a space with Danny, leaning into his touch. No matter what they say about pack, the scents will give away the various alliances within this new overall pack. Danny hooks an arm around Jackson’s middle from behind, lets the flat of his palm rest against his shirt. Danny leans his chin on Jackson’s shoulder, and it’s comforting the way Jackson can feel the heat of Danny’s breath against his throat.

There’s a low huff from Brett, and Jackson glares at him. As if he cares what the other wolf thinks.

The discussion is boring as fuck. Jackson doesn’t care about politics, and he doesn’t really need a rehash of who everyone is. Instead, he observes. He lets his gaze linger on Brett and Lori, notes the family resemblance and wonders idly if people see the same thing when they look at him and Malia. Lori catches him looking, and flushes slightly, and when he smirks at her, she ducks her head and looks away.

“Be nice,” Danny murmurs, and Jackson snorts.

He hears the kanima mentioned and gives Scott a dark look and a growl. Stiles offers, “He got better,” and Jackson rolls his eyes. His life, reduced to a two line point on a cheat sheet about a pack, he figures.

Stiles is at another table, sitting on the bench while Malia perches on the table behind him. Her hands are curled on his shoulders, and Jackson can see that she’s idly digging her fingers in, massaging him. When he’s done talking, Stiles drops his head forward, and Jackson smells contentment.

Maybe they will be fine. Maybe Jackson’s seeing something that’s not there, sensing some invisible problem. Stiles seems happy enough now.

“Let’s talk about the hunters,” Peter drawls. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? This isn’t social hour, making nice between packs. This is a discussion of how to deal with the poison in Beacon Hills.” He glances at Chris, his gaze dark. “Poison we sometimes drink willingly.”

“This isn’t me,” Chris rumbles, his voice gravelly and low. “No one’s gotten in touch with me, and I have no reason to go against either pack, or anyone supernatural unless they’ve done something to injure others. If I’d known about the wendigo family—”

“We knew,” Deputy Clark cuts in. “We were aware of Sean’s family, and we knew that they were taking corpses, based on payments to the mortuary. We’ve been watching them for months, but they’ve never overstepped and they’ve never taken a life, not until Sean was left broken in the hospital and needed to feed to heal.”

“Great,” Liam mutters. “He was fine until he ripped out my guts.”

“When I went over the scene with the Sheriff, I noticed some evidence that it might have been hunters. If I’d known the Sheriff was aware of the supernatural, I would have said something,” she continues.

“If I’d known you were, I would’ve told him to talk to you,” Stiles shoots back. “Maybe next time disclose that your little sister happens to be a bitten werewolf. We can bond over the concept.” He stops abruptly, and Malia tugs at his shoulders. Jackson sees the wince, smells the slight rise in pain.

“I’ll talk to him now,” Clark says firmly. “I have records, and we can work together to trace whether there has been any other noticeable action. We don’t know who they are, but everything we’ve seen says they’re here on a vendetta.”

“For the lives of Allison and Victoria.” Peter drops the words like stones in a pond. “Don’t tell me it hasn’t occurred to you. Everyone of importance here knows how they died, and you all know that their family will come for them and that Chris Argent can do nothing to protect you.”

“I’ve made peace with their deaths,” Chris grumbles softly.

“I don’t think that’s yours to decide.” Peter shrugs one shoulder. “Vengeance is a family affair, and there are far more members of your family than simply yourself. Didn’t your wife come from hunter blood as well?”

“Peter, stop.”

Peter falls silent at Derek’s words, and Scott fills the void.

“Things are going to get worse before they get better, probably.” He has a wry smile that twists his already lopsided jawline even more off-kilter. “Satomi, if you want to give me a list of people in your pack, or under your protection, I can give that list to my mother. She’s part of my pack, and she works in the hospital. She can make sure someone who understands is there to help them, if anyone’s brought in.” He glances at Liam, who shakes his head quickly.

“I’m not getting my dad involved.”

“That will help, and you have an alliance with Dr. Deaton as well, yes?” Satomi smiles slightly. “I remember him. Knowledgeable, but not easy to work with. There are things we can teach you that he might not, knowledge that we can impart. Yes, even to you, Derek Hale. We should gather on the full moon next week.”

“No way in hell am I spending time with them,” Liam points to Brett and Hayden. “Lock me wherever you want, I am _not_ doing this.”

Liam smells like anger again, quickly ramping up into outright fury. Jackson’s never met anyone with this short a fuse, and has a feeling the full moon isn’t going to go well at all.

“Perhaps another month,” Scott says carefully. “When Liam isn’t so new, and after we’ve solved the problem of the hunters. In the meantime, we need to share information. Deputy Clark and Stiles can work together, and I’ll send Lydia and Derek over to talk to you. We need to all make sure we stay safe.”

“Of course.” Satomi rises. “You and your pack are welcome in my territory at any time, and will have safe passage.” She bows slightly.

Scott comes to his feet, awkwardly echoes her motion. “And the same is offered to your pack. Although my mom might wonder if people come knocking at the house.”

“They can come to the loft.” Derek sounds like he’s trying not to smile. “I’ll be a liaison between our packs.”

“Thank you, Derek Hale.”

“Thank you, Alpha Ito.” Derek’s tone is solemn, full of respect.

“Alpha McCall.” Satomi nods one last time to Scott, motions with one hand and her pack rises.

Jackson slides from the bench, feels Danny stand behind him, solid and stable. Scott leads the way as they exit, falling back into formation behind him.

As they go, Brett calls out, “Get ready to have your asses kicked on Friday at the game.”

Liam snarls under his breath at the reminder that the first game of their season is against Devenford Prep.

Danny nudges Jackson, and Jackson works with Isaac so they can both get an arm around Liam, wedged under his shoulders. They lift slightly, and carry him away from the field before he can do any damage.

Friday will come soon enough. Liam and Brett can work out their differences on the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Happy Wednesday! I finished the rough draft of the entire story (21 chapters, almost 86k words) the other day, and since all that's left is the editing of the final chapters, I'm switching to a twice a week posting schedule. New chapters will post on Wednesdays and Sundays until the entire thing is done. So, yay?
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, November 27th. In the meantime, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com), where I'm always happy to chat!


	8. Chapter 8

Lacrosse is a good way to forget about everything else. It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of their practices, the give and take of working through drills. It feels like there are a ridiculous number of supernatural players on the field now for the Cyclones. Isaac decided to play after all, making the team easily and channeling his grief into the game. Kira switches off with Danny in the goal, and for a human, Danny manages to keep up well enough.Liam is still quick to anger, but he’s slowly learning how to keep his wolf under some control, working hard as both Isaac and Scott watch over him closely. Jackson pairs up with Stiles, who fights to keep up with Jackson’s speed and intensity, shouting when he gets it right.

Coach is impressed, and he should be; Beacon Hills might actually have a chance at making it to regionals this season.

By Thursday’s practice, they’ve started to draw an audience during practice. Malia and Lydia do their homework, but others simply mill about or linger in small crowds, watching the lacrosse players as they work. Jackson spots Hayden in the crowd and hopes that Liam doesn’t explode if he sees her. He tries to distract Liam, maneuvering him until he’s running in a different direction down the field, chasing down the ball.

Jackson passes to Stiles, turning as he does so, and he spots a girl standing alone at the very end of the field. She has her arms crossed, hands tucked away tight against her body, and a hat holds her dark curls down. She smiles slightly, and Jackson skids to a halt, turns to look at Scott and Stiles, because it can’t be. He knows it can’t be… he turns back, and she’s gone, leaving Jackson standing in the middle of the field, the breath punched out of him.

“Hey.” Stiles skids to a stop beside him, touches his back. “You okay?”

Jackson shakes his head. “I thought I saw….” He doesn’t finish the sentence, can’t say it, especially to Stiles. He can’t say _I thought I saw Allison_. But he would swear it was her ghost, standing there, watching practice like she’s waiting for Scott to finish so she can meet him to go out. He shakes his head again. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, dude.” Stiles claps his shoulder, points down the field, and Jackson runs with him.

There is no way in hell he’s going to tell Stiles that he’s pretty sure he just did see a ghost. Because ghosts don’t exist. There are a lot of things in this supernatural world, but Jackson’s pretty damned sure the dead don’t walk among them.

And if they do, what does it mean?

Stiles manages to scoop the ball away from Jackson while he’s still shaking, and Jackson forces his head back in the game and charges down the field after him. He intercepts a pass, throws it at the goal and Danny picks it off easily. The look Danny gives him shows that he knows Jackson is off his game, and it’s enough to push Jackson to shake it off. It didn’t happen. It’s not real.

All that’s important at the moment is lacrosse.

He falls into the workout, lets it take over his brain until he’s dripping sweat, the gear heavy on his body. He aches in a million small ways that are already healing as they walk off the field, heading for the locker room. Danny walks next to him, and Jackson puts a hand on his shoulder, leaches some of the ache away until Danny smiles at him. Jackson stops there, puts one hand at the nape of Danny’s neck and tugs him closer for a kiss.

“No making out on the field.” Stiles swats them both on the ass on his way by, then yells to Scott, racing him to the locker room. Scott must let Stiles win, because Stiles slides to a stop in front of the door and pumps both hands in the air, yelling.

Kira splits off from the team as soon as they enter the building, heading for the women’s locker room. Jackson’s pretty sure she’s the lucky one, because she doesn’t have to listen to Coach shouting at them while they shower and change. Jackson tries to tune Coach out, lets the water sluice over his head as he showers quickly and escapes.

“I’ll be outside,” he calls to Danny as soon as he’s dressed and has his bag packed. He shoulders the bag and pushes out of the locker room, while behind him Stiles is snapping a towel at Liam, and Isaac is sighing, irritation rising in his scent. Liam’s scent is already simmering with fury, and Jackson doesn’t want to be around when he explodes.

“Jackson.” Malia’s grip on his forearm is rough and tight and she yanks him off to one side, away from where Lydia sits on a bench, still carefully working problems in her notebook. Malia tugs again until Jackson gives her his full attention. “What’s wrong with Stiles?” she asks, voice low and irritated.

“There’s a long list,” Jackson says dryly. “But I’m guessing you don’t want me to start with things from when we were five and move forward.”

Malia wrinkles her nose. “What? No. I just want to know why he doesn’t like sex.”

Jackson’s mouth opens, closes without saying a word. He thinks his way around her question, tries to find an answer that works. “I’m pretty sure I can’t comment on Stiles’s sex life. Other than the fact that he apparently has one with you.”

“Yes.” Her lips purse, a frown furrowing her brow. “And you don’t like that. Which is not something you get to say anything about. I just want to know why Stiles doesn’t like sex. He smells like he wants sex. And he says he wants sex.”

This really isn’t a conversation Jackson wants to be having. “Maybe you should talk to Stiles about this,” he mutters.

“That’s what Lydia said.” Malia growls under her breath. “But Stiles _says_ he likes sex. He just doesn’t smell as happy as he does other times.”

“Maybe be a little less rough.” It takes effort to get the words out, and they taste raw on his tongue. Jackson scowls at her. “He smells like blood, Malia. Because of your claws.”

“He gets aroused when he gets pushed up against walls,” Malia shoots back. “Lydia called it a fear boner.”

Oh God. Jackson scrubs a hand across his face, tries to rub the image out of his eyes. “Malia. Stiles just—he’s been through a lot. And if you think Danny and I are….” He pauses, struggling to find the words. “Danny didn’t fuck the memories out of my head. Sex isn’t a part of that. It’s just—maybe Stiles is looking for something different.”

“I don’t get it.”

The door opens, and Jackson glances over, sees Kira heading for them. “Pack cuddles,” he says quickly. “That’s how pack heals. Okay? Try to be gentler. Stiles had a demon stuck inside of him, and he needs to get past that. Give him time. But he’s not a wild thing. Be human for him.”

“Be human for who?” Kira hooks her arm through Malia’s, tugs her a little closer.

“Stiles.” Malia keeps her gaze on Jackson, her lips still slightly pursed and thoughtful. “But I’m not human,” she says flatly.

“Try.” It’s all he can say, all he can offer. He can smell her frustration, and a faint hint of sadness, and he doesn’t know how to make it any clearer. It’s something she’ll have to work out with Stiles. “And talk to him.”

“Which you can do while we’re out.” Kira tugs just a bit. “Stiles and Scott are coming now, and we’re going to a movie and bowling. We should go ask Lydia and Isaac to come with us.”

Malia holds Jackson’s gaze a moment longer, then looks down briefly before looking away. “Okay. But don’t steal my popcorn this time.”

As they walk away, Malia’s head bent close to Kira’s as they talk, it’s almost easy to think of her as human. But Jackson can’t forget the coyote that lies under her skin, or the fact that she’s still learning what it’s like to be a teenager, not just observing them from a distance.

“Do I even want to know?” Danny wraps his arms around Jackson from behind, presses a kiss to his temple.

“Probably not.” Jackson lets Danny turn him around, follows when Danny starts heading for the parking lot. Somehow, Malia’s double date looks like it’s turned into a giant group hang, with Mason and Liam joining them as well. Jackson and Danny pass by the group as they argue about what movie and who’s driving whom. Stiles stands with one arm around Malia, gesturing with his free hand as he speaks.

He looks happy. He smells content. That must mean everything’s going to be okay.

“Whether I want to know about it or not, you probably want to talk about it.” Danny squeezes Jackson’s hand, pulls his attention back.

Jackson shrugs, pitches his voice low. He doesn’t think any of the pack are listening—they’re all embroiled in their own discussions—but he doesn’t want to encourage eavesdropping. “Malia wanted to talk about Stiles, that’s all.”

“She’s asking you for advice?”

“She thinks something’s wrong with him.” Jackson doesn’t want to go into the details.

“She’s not wrong.” Danny stops as they reach his car. “Stiles has been through hell.” The touches to Jackson’s cheek, to the collar, say that Danny knows that Jackson understands that. But it’s not just that, and Jackson has no idea how to express it.

“Stiles is—” Jackson cuts himself off, looks past Danny to where the group is moving slowly toward the parking lot, arguments still continuing. He grumbles under his breath. “It’s just….” His voice trails off, and he takes the escape Danny offers, losing the words in a slow kiss.

Danny pushes him back against the car, presses close as he kisses Jackson again, trapping Jackson with his taller frame. The kisses linger, slowly igniting desire and warmth that coil in Jackson’s gut, leaving him pleasantly hot and slowly getting less comfortable as his underwear grows tight.

Voices approach and recede, and Jackson doesn’t care, tilting his head so Danny can nuzzle along the line of the collar. It’s one of his favorite feelings, teeth and tongue and the reminder of his connection to Danny, the reminder that this is his best friend, his boyfriend. His anchor.

Jackson lets his hands fall to Danny’s waist, dips lower to squeeze Danny’s ass as Jackson shifts his hips, rutting in slow, idle motion. Danny presses closer, nips at his shoulder, and Jackson groans.

A sharp squeal of tires makes them both stop, going completely still. Stiles’s baby blue Jeep peels out of its parking space; Jackson’s arousal flags as the Jeep barely stops at the end of the parking lot, squeals again on the turn into the road. He licks his lips, closes his eyes and lowers his head.

Danny flattens his hand against Jackson’s throat, slides up to cup his cheek. “Are you two still talking at night?”

It’s been days since Stiles crashed in Danny’s room, and before that since he last texted Jackson because he couldn’t sleep. Stiles might not be certain about Malia’s tactics, but something seems to be working.

Jackson shakes his head slowly. “I guess he must not need it anymore.” One slow shrug, because he doesn’t care. Obviously, Stiles is fine.

Another car roars to life; Lydia passes them more slowly, Isaac staring at them from the passenger seat as they drive by. Jackson bares his teeth, growls low as Isaac turns away.

“So if Stiles is fine….” Danny lets the words trail away, cradles Jackson’s face in both his hands as he leans in close, nose to nose. He tilts just enough to steal a swift kiss, barely enough for a taste of his lips.

Jackson whines and pulls him back again, makes the kiss linger this time, parts his lips and invites Danny inside. Another shift of his hips, slotting them closer together, idle motion building the hunger slowly. It aches to be this close and know they’re standing in the middle of the parking lot. There are security cameras here, and when they get home, Danny’s parents will be there. Damn it.

Jackson breaks the kiss, pulls back just enough to whisper, “We could go into the woods.”

“And?” Danny trails kisses down the side of his neck again, and Jackson shudders under his touch. He loves the way Danny sucks on a spot, knows the mark disappears all too quickly.

“And keep doing this where we’re not going to be caught on camera.” Jackson pushes at Danny and smirks. “You know you want me to blow you in the woods.”

“Oh, is that what you’re offering here?” Danny’s lazy smile is answer enough. That and the way Danny steps back, his hands curled in Jackson’s collar, drawing him with him. “You, on your knees, getting me off? That’s a pretty picture, Jackson.”

Jackson was hard already, but now he’s aching even more. He pushes a hand against his own crotch, tries to readjust himself so he can walk comfortably. When Danny laughs, Jackson growls, lets his eyes flash, and all Danny does is drag him closer to start kissing all over again.

It’s awkward how they make their way to the edge of the woods, pausing to kiss and tangle themselves together. Danny manages to get his hands under Jackson’s shirt at one point, fingers pressed to the small of his back. Jackson retaliates by pulling the V neckline of Danny’s shirt wide, sucking a deep red mark against his chest. Every time they slide together, Jackson can feel that Danny’s just as aroused as he is, the musk thick in the air, mixing their scents.

They end up only a few feet in, barely within the tree line but hidden from view of the field or any security cameras. Jackson pushes Danny against a tree and slides his shirt up, kisses his abdomen. Danny groans, threads his fingers through Jackson’s hair and nudges him down. Jackson goes willingly, knees hitting the ground, leaving his face level with Danny’s crotch. He leans in, rubs his face long the hard ridge that tents the denim, whining low in his throat.

“Fuck,” Danny whispers. It takes two tries for him to get the button undone on his jeans, push the zip down. Scent floods the air, and Jackson inhales it, feels it slide through him, heating him up until he feels like he could explode into flame. Jackson licks at the soft cotton that still covers Danny’s dick, feels it twitch under his touch.

There’s the crack of a stick breaking, sharp and loud in the silence.

Jackson rolls backwards, comes to his feet in a crouch. Claws tip his fingers, teeth fill his mouth as he growls.

Danny’s breath shudders out. “What?” he asks softly.

Jackson brings one clawed finger up to his lips. Danny responds by tucking himself back into his jeans and doing up the fly. It cuts the scent in the air, the musk still thick but not as overpowering. Jackson breathes in through his mouth, tastes the other scents and finds something fresh. Someone fresh.

He strips quickly, leaves his clothes in a pile as he falls to four feet, nose to the ground. He follows the trail, bright and sharp to his wolf’s nose. Two someones, scents entangled as they move around the edges of the lacrosse field. Jackson traces them, catches a sharp metallic scent, and something smoky that makes him sneeze. Gunpowder.

He finds the freshest space, the spot with broken branches. Jackson sits back on his haunches, shifts back to human and stays crouched. “Two people, but one left a while ago. One was just here, and I could try to follow them.”

Danny’s facing the field. He stands tall, then lowers himself slowly until he pauses. “They’re about five foot seven or so. This is a perfect view down to the field.”

Jackson leans in close, inhales the air next to the opening Danny’s found in the leaf cover. Metal and gunpowder again. “Someone had a gun here. Hunters.”

“Facing the field?”

Jackson’s expression is sharp and wry. “Not the kind that hunt deer. We’re talking hunters. The kind coming after supernatural teenagers.”

Danny ducks out of the covered space, takes several pictures. “Think there are any other good sniper spots around the field?”

Jackson simply drops back to his knees and shifts into the wolf. He lets his nose lead him around, identifying three more people in addition to the first two. They find three other places where the metal scents intensify, and one where Jackson smells rich, oiled wood. He wrinkles his nose as he comes back to human. “Crossbow, I think. I might have missed that somewhere else, too. It’s subtle.”

“Does it have this kind of range? It’s probably a compound bow.”

“Wood.” Jackson shakes his head. “That’s old. Traditional, not a modern hunting weapon. And who knows what they’re aiming to do exactly. I don’t think I’d notice a scent lingering from a modern bow.”

“So we’ve found five sniper spots, and there could be more,” Danny muses.

“And at least five people.” Jackson scrubs a hand against the back of his head, stops when Danny’s hand falls to the nape of his neck. It’s only comforting now, not arousing at all. He huffs a low, irritated sigh. “This isn’t good.”

They head back to the point where they entered the woods so Jackson can dress. He tosses his phone to Danny. “Derek’s number is on there. Send the pictures you took to Scott and Derek, and tell them to talk to Satomi. We need to make sure to get all hands on deck for tomorrow night’s match. The hunters are coming, and we’re the prey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Thank you all for the lovely comments. I know I owe some replies and I'm hoping to get to those later today. <3 I love you all so much, and I'm so glad you're along for the ride. The next part will post on Wednesday, November 30! Loving this twice a week posting schedule. In the meantime, you can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is character injury in this chapter. No one dies, although there is one hospitalization. If you need a spoiler before reading, skip to the end notes.

Jackson can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching him as he gets ready for the game. There’s a prick along the spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He pauses his stretching on the sidelines to straighten up, tilt his head, listening for something out of place. His nostrils flare, inhaling, but all he smells is crowd: too much perfume, cologne, and sweat to pick out anything different. There’s no sharp, acrid scent of gunpowder, no metal and wood of a crossbow. He stretches upward as he turns, scanning the field in all directions, dropping his arms when he’s done. Still nothing. He bounces lightly on his toes, moving from side to side to warm up, and tries to let himself fall into the groove of readying for a game.

“Whittemore!” Coach is right there in front of him, hands on his hips. “Be aggressive, but not too aggressive,” Coach admonishes. “Take them down, go straight through, but no penalties. Got it?”

If Jackson goes through them, there will probably be penalties. Or possibly injuries. “Got it, Coach,” he says, and Coach moves on, calling out to Stiles as he goes.

Jackson does another slow circle, trying to figure out what’s bugging him, what won’t let his subconscious leave him alone. He counts players, realizes that Liam is gone and listens for him as well as looking. There he is, at the far end of the field behind the goal, talking to a guy in a Devenford Prep uniform. _Brett_. Jackson catches a shout of Hayden’s name, and Brett fires back something about a car, and Jackson decides he really doesn’t want the details. Hayden is stalking toward both of them, and Liam’s scent thickens with fury as Hayden bears down on them. He smells like a bomb ready to explode.

Jackson settles into the space next to Scott, who is also watching the younger wolves, and knocks his shoulder into him lightly. Scott sighs, claps a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Yeah, man, I see them. I’ll go get him before Coach notices.” Scott lopes away, and Jackson starts to run sprints on the sidelines, still trying to find the right headspace for the game.

It’s the first game he’s ever played without his mom in the stands. Danny’s parents are there, sitting several seats away from Malia, Lydia, and Satomi. The Sheriff sits in another section with Melissa McCall close by his side. Deputy Clark and Deputy Parrish are sitting stiffly two rows in front of them, despite being out of uniform for the night.

There’s movement at one end of the bleachers, and Jackson sees Derek in the darkness. Lurking, of course.

“Relax.” Danny’s next to him, motioning for Jackson to follow him in a series of warmups. They shuffle side to side, then do a series of quick sprints. Danny tosses Jackson’s stick to him, and they pass the ball back and forth until the stick feels like an extension of Jackson’s hands. “It’s going to be okay,” Danny says, and Jackson scowls at him.

“You know just saying that doesn’t help, right?” Jackson points out. “There are still sniper stations out there.”

“And the entire pack is here, probably including more people from Satomi’s pack that we don’t know.” Danny glances at the team warming up on the other side of the field. “You don’t think Brett’s the only werewolf on their team, do you?”

Jackson follows his gaze, tries to see if he can spot anyone else who looks suspicious. But no, they all just look like people, and no one smells particularly supernatural either. After the fiasco with Liam, Jackson’s not sure he can trust any typical evidence, because apparently there are humans who are really just that good.

He does spot a familiar face standing with Brett’s sister, leaning over the fence behind the visiting team’s bench. “Is that Mason?”

Danny glances, snorts softly. “Yes, that’s Mason. He has a crush on Brett. It’s probably what’s got Liam spitting mad tonight.”

Jackson doesn’t think Liam needs anything in particular to get him angry, especially where Brett’s concerned. But if Mason’s defecting to the enemy, that certainly wouldn’t help.

“Everybody sit your asses down on the bench!” Coach yells out. Scott and Liam are abruptly there, Scott settling onto the end of the bench next to Stiles as if he’s been there all along. Coach waits until they all arrange themselves, most on the bench although Kira remains standing, bouncing lightly on her toes, her face mostly hidden by the goalie’s mask.

“We’re going to go out there and kick ass tonight,” Coach says. “You’ve got a chance to make history here. No team at Beacon Hills has ever won the opening game.”

“Coach—” Isaac stops as soon as Coach glares at him.

“Make. History,” Coach repeats slowly. “I came back after being gutted, and you are going to go out there and win one for me. You’re faster than they are. You’re angrier than they are. And you’re prettier than they are. So get out there and kick some Devenford Prep ass!”

Stiles stands up, stick in the air, and whoops loudly.

“Sit back down, Stilinski. You’re not starting.” Coach points at the bench. “Danny, you’re in goal. Whittemore, McCall, Dunbar: you’re on attack.” He hesitates, frowns and shakes his head. “Fine. Stilinski, you’re in the midfield. Lahey, defense.” He’s still calling names when Jackson jumps up, grabs his stick and heads to the field. Stiles is whooping again behind him, high-fiving Scott before they run onto the field and take their positions.

Jackson likes being in the attack position. He knows Coach would be better off splitting his supernatural players, but Coach has no idea what he’s really got. He just knows that the three of them are vicious when they play and that they can get through any defense. Jackson isn’t going to argue as long as he’s where he wants to be.

The Devenford Prep team is big. Brett Talbot is tall and lanky, but the other players are broader, wide-shouldered and strong. Jackson wouldn’t be surprised if any of them are supernatural just by size alone. They line up, crouching slightly. Jackson’s stick is loose in his hands, and he’s ready to run. Brett’s near Liam, and Jackson just barely catches the flash of bright yellow eyes from Brett, and the low growl from Liam.

The game is on.

Once the game gets going, it’s easy to tell which players on the field are pack. There are moments of distraction, tiny spaces when a player looks into the woods, gaze shifting to the places where the sniper stations sit. There are three other players besides Brett on the Devenford Prep team, all of whom let their gazes stray, seeking information. Jackson’s aware of it, just as he can’t stop checking those spaces himself.

They play, and they play hard, but half the players are waiting for another shoe to drop.

Jackson pushes through a distracted defense, spots Scott standing open, staring into the woods. He shouts, whips the ball towards Scott, and Liam runs by, picking it off and racing for the goal. A defenseman gets in his way, and Liam darts right, throwing at inhuman speed into the net. The goalie never has a chance, and the score goes up: Beacon Hills 1, Devenford Prep 0.

Brett scores the next goal a few minutes later, and the teams fight back and forth without another goal before the quarter is over. Kira takes the goal for the second quarter, and Jackson sits next to Danny on the bench when Coach pulls him out for a minute break to breathe. Not that Jackson needs it, but he’ll take the time sitting next to Danny.

“Anything?” Danny asks, and Jackson shakes his head.

“We’re all watching, but nothing’s happening,” Jackson mutters. He winces as Brett shoots and Kira scoops it just before it smashes into her nose. She shouts happily and whips the ball back into play, sending it easily down field.

Jackson’s shoulder blades itch, and he shifts uncomfortably. “Nothing’s happening,” he repeats. “But something is going to. I can feel it. They’re out there, and I can’t see them or smell them and I don’t like it. I feel like….”

Danny puts a hand on his knee, squeezes. “The longer they wait, the more anxious we get. Or the more complacent. If we stop looking, they’ll attack.”

“Whittemore!”

Jackson jumps up at Coach’s yell, pulls his helmet on and goes back into the game.

The half ends with Devenford Prep up by one.

They go back to the locker room for the half time break. Stiles puts a bag of ice on the back of his neck, his face bright red from exertion. Liam paces, muttering under his breath; Jackson doesn’t care enough to listen. Danny chats with Kira, offering her advice, while Coach grabs Isaac.

“See, the thing is, they’re bigger than you.” Coach has one hand wrapped around Isaac’s upper arm, his other hand gesturing. Scott slips away, nudging Stiles as he goes, and they both head over to Jackson.

“Danny thinks we should just play.” Stiles sits next to Jackson, Scott settling on his other side. Stiles offers the ice bag to Jackson, and he takes it; he doesn’t need to be cooled down but it still feels good.

“Yeah, he thinks they’ll attack if we ignore them.” Jackson licks his lips. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting down our guard.”

“Stand your ground!” Coach shouts. Jackson doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t want to catch his attention.

“They might attack anyway,” Scott points out. “Or they might be waiting for something. Or maybe they’re not planning something for today; maybe it’ll be a different game. Or gym class.” Jackson smells uncertainty in Scott’s scent, and Jackson shakes his head.

“They’re here. I can’t see them or smell them, but I feel it. Right?” He looks at Scott.

“I thought I was just being paranoid,” Scott says quietly.

“You’ve got to take your chances, Lahey!” Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson sees Coach jab a finger at Isaac’s chest. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Forget about all these yahoos; they’re not helping you on the field anyway.” Coach leans in, intent as he speaks. “I need you to defend the goal, Lahey. You. Defend. Goal.”

“If anyone’s paranoid here, it’s me, Scotty,” Stiles points out. “If you’ve got a hunch, we should run with it. So maybe Danny’s right. Maybe we just play. It’d make Coach happy.”

“Someone on this team has to be focused, might as well be you, Lahey.” Coach claps Isaac’s shoulder, then turns, catching sight of Liam. “Dunbar! What the hell is this I hear about you and a car? Don’t let those idiots distract you.”

Stiles probably has a point.

“Fine.” Jackson exhales long and slow. “We go in, we play, and we run the score up.”

“Even if we’re not watching for the snipers, keep your guard up,” Scott cautions. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt, especially the humans. I’ll let the others know.”

Scott catches Liam, and Liam pulls his phone out of his locker to text someone, scowling the entire time. Jackson hooks an arm through Danny’s, pulls him close and kisses him quickly. “We’re going with your plan. Keep your guard up,” Jackson whispers, and Danny just kisses him again.

The third quarter slides by, as Beacon Hills scores twice in quick succession and keeps Devenford Prep from getting anywhere near the goal. Devenford responds to the push by playing harder, focusing on the game.

Jackson’s running down the field, trying to catch up with number 46 from Devenford and driving him towards Isaac, when Isaac goes stiff, expression startled and pained before he drops to the ground.

There’s a flash and a harsh, rank scent, then another brighter flash before an explosion throws Jackson backward. And there’s fire, actual fucking fire, right at the goal.

“Danny!” Jackson races toward the goal, unable to get close because of the heat of the fire. He spots Scott out of the corner of his eye, dragging Isaac to safety. Players have scattered, racing off the field. The people in the stands are on the move, screaming. Thick smoke burns Jackson’s lungs, but he can’t move away, not until he gets Danny out.

He dimly registers the loudspeaker in the background, telling Beacon Hills to get inside the school and instructing Devenford Prep to head to their buses immediately. Stiles yells, somewhere in the distance, and Jackson whines, howling, low and long.

Someone emerges from the flames, skin blackened, Danny cradled in his arms. Jackson has no idea who the fuck it is, but he can smell Danny, can smell the burnt patches on his skin, can smell his pain. Jackson follows close until Danny is laid on the ground, then he sinks to his knees, grasping Danny’s hand and pulling his pain.

“Don’t die, don’t die,” Jackson whispers. “Fuck, just… Danny….”

“He’ll be okay.” The voice is gravelly, hissing like water poured over coals. The burnt figure crouches next to Danny, presses his hands to his skin. Most of Danny’s clothes are burned away, and everywhere the stranger touches, heat leaves Danny’s body. The smell of charred skin is thick in the air, wrapped around Jackson’s lungs and he coughs on it, but it doesn’t taste like Danny’s scent.

Smoke rises from the stranger’s skin and Jackson realizes that he’s pulling Danny’s heat into him, burning himself. Jackson would say it’s impossible, but he’s a fucking werewolf after all. Anything’s possible.

Jackson keeps talking, nonsense sentences, just words for Danny to focus on if he can hear him. There are sirens in the distance, people still screaming, and Jackson can’t pay attention to any of it. His throat is burning, and he just keeps talking, because there has to be an anchor for Danny and this is all he can give him: his voice and his hand, wrapped around Danny’s and stealing his pain away.

Sirens pull into the parking lot, the lights still flashing as the screaming sound dies away. The burnt figure draws back, touches Jackson’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay,” the figure says, then he backs away, running toward the woods. Jackson’s pretty sure he should chase after the stranger, but he can’t leave Danny’s side.

“What happened?” An EMT drops into a crouch next to Danny, touches the side of his neck briefly, then looks at Jackson. “I need you to step back, give us some room.”

“He’s my boyfriend.” It’s strangely easy to say here, even to strangers. Another EMT is behind Jackson, tugging at his shoulders, and Jackson goes with the touch, letting go slowly. “He was too close to the fire. He’s unconscious.”

“We can see that.” The second EMT has a nice voice, a soft, low alto. She draws Jackson to his feet, but he can’t stop looking at the way the other EMT fits an oxygen mask over Danny’s face. The EMT works quickly, his hands careful and sure, but Jackson doesn’t know how to trust him. He turns to face the one still holding his shoulders—the name on her jacket is Jackson and he laughs at it, because right now, that’s just the funniest thing.

“I’m Sophie,” she says, “and this is Eric, and your friend is in good hands. You should go get checked out, too. You might feel okay now, but if you inhaled smoke getting him out of there, you need to be treated.”

“I’m okay,” Jackson insists, but Sophie’s already calling to someone else, and there are hands around him, pulling him away from Danny. He could resist, but he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, doesn’t want to stop them from treating Danny. He lets them tug at him, walks backwards so he can watch as Sophie and Eric load Danny onto a gurney and roll him quickly toward a waiting ambulance. “I need to go with him.”

“He’s going to be fine. You can follow to the hospital as soon as we’re sure you’re stable and safe to drive.”

Jackson lets them sit him down on the back of an ambulance, takes the oxygen mask and dutifully inhales. Sophie takes his vitals; she has her fingers on his pulse when the lights go on for Danny’s ambulance. Her brow furrows in concern as his heart rate spikes when the ambulance pulls out, siren screaming. “I’m okay,” Jackson says again, taking off the mask and shoving it at the EMT. “Help… him.” He gestures at someone he thinks is human, hopes they take him at his word and help the people who need it more than a wolf.

“Jackson!” Stiles rushes up to him, skin red from exertion but he doesn’t smell of smoke. There’s a cut over his eye, a trail of blood dripping across his cheekbone. The scent is bright as iron. “What happened? Where’s Danny? We’ve rounded up everyone else other than the two of you.”

“Hospital. Burnt.” Jackson sags when Stiles gets an arm around him. “They wouldn’t let me go in the ambulance with him.”

“Shit. We’ll get you there.” Stiles half carries Jackson to where the mingled packs are gathered, stumbling under his weight. When they get there, Isaac is sitting on the ground looking woozy, while Scott hovers nearby. Liam has something burning in his hands, the stench of wolfsbane pricking at Jackson’s nose. Liam presses the hot ash to a wound in Brett’s shoulder, and Jackson’s stomach twists violently at the addition of burning flesh to the stench.

Derek, Chris, and everyone from the Sheriff’s office are missing, while Melissa is still there, tending to minor wounds. She directs Stiles to set Jackson down, and quickly looks at the cut over Stiles’s eye. She frowns, pursing her lips. “You’re going to need stitches.”

Jackson sinks to the ground, sits there quietly. Every bit of energy is gone.

“I’m going to the hospital with Jackson—Danny’s there.” Stiles gives Melissa a hug, then gets one from Scott as well. “Anyone else riding along?”

“I’m coming.” Malia wedges a shoulder under Jackson’s arm and lifts him easily. “Lydia, come with us.”

It’s decided, just like that, and Jackson ends up in the back of the Jeep, wedged in between the girls while Stiles drives. He’s not that far behind Danny. He’s going to get there, and everything’s going to be okay.

It has to be okay.

#

Melissa must call ahead, because as soon as they walk in, Stiles is whisked away by a nurse who clucks over his injury and settles him into an exam room. Jackson doesn’t think he’s ever seen a non-critical case handled so quickly before, but they know Stiles here, and most of them care for him like a baby chick.

Jackson sinks into one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, while Lydia informs the staff that they’re here for Danny. “He’s under observation,” she says, taking the seat on the opposite side of Jackson from Malia. “He’s breathing well, but they have him on oxygen while they’re waiting for him to wake up. They say it’s a miracle that the burns aren’t worse.”

“Yeah, well. Something like that,” Jackson mutters. Malia gives him a curious look, but Jackson doesn’t want to explain it until Stiles is there. Instead he raises an arm, tucks Malia under it, cradling her close. Lydia leans on his shoulder, and he tangles his fingers with hers. He breathes as quietly as he can, until he finds synchronization with them, in and out, careful and steady.

It’s not perfect, but it helps, as long as he doesn’t think of Danny.

He clutches at Lydia’s hand, and she whimpers softly.

“Yeah, let me take that.” Stiles arrives, a bandage over his eye, his face clean of blood. He takes Lydia’s seat, then offers his lap to her. She curls close, and Stiles puts one arm around her to hold on. He tangles his fingers with Jackson, squeezing tightly. “Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me,” he says. “No matter how hard you squeeze.”

“I don’t want to break your hand.”

“Dude, if I could smell you, I would know what heartbreak smells like,” Stiles retorts. “A broken finger will heal. You’re worried about Danny. Go ahead and cling, it’s okay.”

Malia nuzzles his shoulder, and Jackson catches the worried scent. “You do smell bad. More than sorrowed. It’s okay, hold onto us. We’re pack.”

Pack has never included Stiles before, but it feels right just then. Jackson closes his eyes, tries to find that rhythm of steady breath. It’s even easier this time, the four of them finding that place where they are breathing as one, finding ease.

“There’s a new supernatural thing in town,” Jackson says softly, and he hears the hitch of their breath in response. He describes the burnt stranger who brought Danny out of the fire, describes the way that he seemed to heal Danny by drawing the flames right out of his skin. “I have no idea who it is, but I’m pretty sure it was male. That’s all I’ve got to go on.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Maybe it’s Peter,” Malia suggests. “He survived a fire, and he died before.”

“It wasn’t Peter.” Jackson is sure of that. “I didn’t immediately recognize the scent, and I think I would have recognized Peter, even with all the burnt parts. I recognized Danny.”

“We have to find this person so you can give him a thank you card,” Stiles quips. “We’ll get right on that, once we know Danny’s okay.”

There’s a low buzz, and Lydia shifts to pull her phone out of her pocket. Jackson wonders if his phone is buzzing as well, tucked away in a locker back at the high school, along with his normal clothes.

“The sniper nests were definitely used tonight,” Lydia says, her voice low. “Derek could smell them. Fresh gunpowder, which matches with the shots Brett and Isaac took. Some kind of accelerant, probably shot on an arrow, which is what exploded on the field. The flash bombs had a distinct scent, and those came from the nests as well. Deputy Clark says they have enough evidence to show that there was a planned attack, even without the supernatural element.” She types something back, and shoves the phone into her pocket. “My mother will pick us up when we’re ready to go, Malia.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Malia growls.

“I’ll be okay, once Danny’s awake.” Jackson just needs to see him, to touch him, then he’ll know everything’s fine.

“Then I’m not leaving until that happens.” Malia nuzzles closer, leaves her scent on his shoulder. It smells like family and pack, and it’s a part of what Jackson needs right now.

He turns his head, nuzzles into Stiles’s hair, leaving his own scent there. He feels Lydia’s palm against his cheek, and he sighs into the touch and lets himself float in a haze of pack.

“Jackson?”

He blinks his eyes open to see Melissa crouched before him. “When did you get here?”

“I drove over as soon as I knew the wolves were going to be okay. All of the wolfsbane has been burned out of their systems, and they’re healing now.” She reaches past Jackson to nudge Stiles, who comes awake with a startled whine. “It’s been a few hours, and I wouldn’t disturb you, but Danny’s awake and he’s asking for you.”

“Me?” Stiles asks sleepily, and Jackson bristles.

“Jackson,” Melissa clarifies. “And anyone else who’s here with Jackson.” She glances at Malia, then nudges Lydia, who is already stirring after Stiles moved. Malia murmurs and curls closer to Jackson.

Lydia stretches, slides off of Stiles’s lap and twists as she wakes up. “I’ll take Malia home,” she says. “I know my mother will pick us up as soon as I let her know that we’re ready. Malia, get up. You’re staying with me.”

Malia whines, but allows herself to be drawn to her feet. She pushes at her hair, pulls it back from her face. “Are you going to be okay, Jackson?”

Jackson looks to Melissa for the answer. “How’s Danny?”

“He’s going to be fine, but he needs a lot of rest.”

“I’ll stay to make sure you can get home okay, later,” Stiles offers. His voice is still hoarse from sleep, and there’s a faint scruff on his chin, like maybe this isn’t the first day he’s gone without shaving. He rubs at his eyes, and Jackson stares at him, trying to figure out what he smells in his scent.

“Okay.” Jackson feels like he’s agreeing to something else and he’s not sure what. He pushes to his feet slowly, lets Lydia hug him and kiss his cheek, then Malia pulls him in for a hard hug. They both do the same for Stiles in turn before they leave, and Melissa shows Jackson and Stiles to where Danny is resting.

“He’s been checked in for the night,” Melissa says quietly as they stand outside the door. “He’s not on a critical watch, although he is still on supplemental oxygen for the moment. They expected far worse damage, once they found out that he’d been in goal. The goal is gone, Jackson. It was near the center of the explosion.”

Jackson shudders, breath tight in his chest. “Someone saved him,” he manages to say. “I don’t know who. I just… I’d thank them, if I could.” There’s pressure against his shoulder, and he leans into Stiles, letting him take his weight.

Melissa nudges the door open. “Go on in, see for yourself that he’s okay.”

Jackson makes his way into the room, pushes the curtain away from Danny’s bed and just stops there, his heart hammering hard enough that it aches to breathe. Danny’s still hooked up to monitors, has an IV drip of some clear fluid, and there’s a little oxygen thing in his nose. But his skin isn’t crisp, and he looks like he’s okay.

“Hey.” Danny smiles slowly. “Forgive me if I’m a little out of it. They’ve got me on the good stuff for pain.”

“I can help with that, too.” Jackson pulls a chair close, tangles his fingers with Danny’s as he sits down. He starts leaching the pain away, sees the faint lines across Danny’s forehead ease. “And I’m not addictive.”

Danny laughs, and it ends with a cough. “And here I thought you’d say you were more addictive than drugs,” he teases.

“I’m your type,” Jackson says softly, and Danny just smiles.

There’s anxiety in the room, a thick scent that blankets the air. Stiles, not Danny, coming in from where Stiles still lingers in the doorway. The smell is rich, churning Jackson’s stomach, and he grumbles. “Get in here.”

“I’m just here to make sure you’re okay. And give you a ride home eventually,” Stiles doesn’t look at them. He wavers, swaying on his feet, and there’s a fresh wave of something in the air that makes Jackson feel ill.

“Well, I’m going to be a while,” Jackson snaps. “So get in here, because lingering in the doorway isn’t doing anyone any good. You might as well sit with us.”

“What Jackson means to say is, take care of him while he takes care of me,” Danny says. His eyes are closed, his skin still paler than Jackson can ever remember seeing, outside of times here in the hospital. It’s not a good look, and it only brings up bad memories. “I don’t have my bag, so you can’t go through it looking for things.”

“Dude.” Stiles tugs the curtain shut as he enters the small space. He hovers at the foot of the bed, looking from Jackson’s chair to the bed, and the lack of space around them. “We are not getting into that now.”

“No more withholding information when it’s important,” Danny says.

“Not that sharing it kept you safe, either.” Jackson squeezes Danny’s hand as he stands. “I’m going to sit on Danny’s bed. You take the chair before you fall over.”

Danny tilts his head on the pillow, eyes flickering open as he looks at Stiles. “You’re going to have a scar.”

“Does it make me attractive to gay guys?” Stiles quips, although there’s a sour note to his scent when he says the words.

Danny huffs a laugh, closes his eyes again. “Stop fishing, Stiles. You don’t need a scar to be more attractive.” His breath evens out, and on the next exhalation, Jackson thinks he might be asleep.

“He’s high on painkillers,” Stiles mutters. He leans forward, pillows his head on his arms, resting against the mattress. Jackson leans back against the bed, his hand still curled with Danny’s.

“He’s not lying,” Jackson says, shrugging one shoulder. Because Danny’s heartbeat was dead even, solid and true. It’s not the first time he’s mentioned it, either.

Stiles just makes a snort, and it sounds like disbelief. Jackson’s fine with this line of conversation ending, so he stays silent, drawing Danny’s pain out as best he can. Pain he can help. He has no idea what to do about the slumped slope of Stiles’s shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER: Danny is caught by an explosion in the goal, and is rescued by an unknown supernatural creature who also helps heal his burns. He ends up in the hospital overnight, but he'll be fine. There are also various werewolf injuries, and Stiles gets stitches. Everyone survives!
> 
> So hey, and welcome to Wednesday. I hope your week is going well so far, and that the remainder of it passes quickly and easily. Look, plot! Thank you so much for all the love and comments; you guys are awesome. The next part will post on Sunday, December 4th. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	10. Chapter 10

Jackson can’t sleep. Stiles crawled up onto the bed an hour ago and is passed out half next to Danny and half on top of him. Danny has one arm thrown over Stiles, the other splayed out where he’s still hooked to the IV. Jackson’s spent the last hour alternating between keeping his fingers wrapped around Danny’s hand, taking his pain, and pacing around the small space.

He just can’t figure out how to settle.

A nurse stops in, narrows her gaze at where Stiles sleeps, but manages to get Danny’s vitals without actually waking either of them up. She purses her lips, frowns at Jackson, but he presses a finger to his mouth when she starts to speak, stalling her before the first syllable slips free. He shakes his head, jabs his other finger at the two sleeping figures; her moue of displeasure deepens but she leaves them there.

Jackson sinks into the uncomfortable plastic chair, slumps down and stares at his phone. He brings up a text to Cora and sends _I am so fucked_.

His phone buzzes in his hand at her reply. _In a good way I hope. You do have a boyfriend. He’s had practice, right? Makes it good for you._

Jackson’s jaw goes tight, and he quickly sends back, _That’s not what I meant_ , in hopes of stopping that train of questioning.

_Well then, what is it?_

Jackson looks from his phone to the two sleeping people in one bed, then back to his phone. _I don’t know exactly. I’m confused._

_About?_

He has no idea how to put it into words. Or whether he’s ready to put it into words. Instead, he aims the phone at the bed, snaps a picture of how tangled Danny and Stiles are, and he sends that.

 _Oh_.

Right. Oh. Because that’s a helpful response. _Is that all you’re going to say?_

_Are you jealous?_

Jackson looks at them both, feels a knot twisting in his gut as he shakes his head before he even replies. _No. I’m not._

He almost drops his phone when it buzzes in his hand. He doesn’t want to leave Danny but at the same time, he’s not going to risk waking them up by taking the call while sitting in the room. He pushes the curtain aside, ducks out of the room and into the hall, leaning against the wall as he cradles the phone to his ear. He answers, speaking as quietly as he can. “Hello, Cora.”

“That was starting to sound like too complicated a conversation for text,” she says cheerily. “Next question: is it too urgent to wait until I’m in California? Because I’m getting on a flight in two hours, and while the layovers are going to really fuck with my sense of time, I’ll be there relatively soon.”

“Why are you coming here?”

“Can the other conversation wait that long?” Cora counters his question with a question, and Jackson huffs and irritable sigh.

“No,” he grumbles. “But answer my question.”

“I’ve heard rumors that a hunter family out of Mexico is on the move,” Cora says. “I’m pretty sure they’re not in Beacon Hills yet, but it sounds like they’re heading that way. I’ve dealt with them before—my pack here has a tentative agreement based on no one screwing up too badly. But I don’t know what they want with you guys, and I’m planning on getting there first. I’ll make Derek pick me up.” There’s a brief pause, not long enough for Jackson to keep the conversation going before Cora says, “So tell me what’s going on with you and why is Stiles sleeping with Danny?”

Jackson details the attack. “So Danny’s in the hospital, and Stiles… he just… he smelled like he needed to be there. He’s my ride home.”

“Lie.” Cora clucks her tongue. “I can hear your heart, Jackson. Try again. Are you breaking up with Danny?”

“No.” Jackson’s sure of that. He’s absolutely positive that Danny’s going to still be in his life in fifty years, and they’ll probably be making out in a kitchen somewhere and horrifying younger pack members. “We’ve been helping Stiles get through the shit in his head after the Nogitsune.”

“I thought Malia was helping him with that.”

Jackson snorts softly. “Yeah, she’s trying, too. It’s all a work in progress. But Stiles seems comfortable when he’s with us.”

“And you’re not jealous when you’re looking at him wrapped around your boyfriend.” He can hear movement in the background, the rustle of fabric as Cora packs while talking to Jackson. “You give a shit about Stiles, Jackson. That’s obvious. The question is: what do those feelings mean?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson mutters under his breath. There’s a swift cackle of laughter from Cora. “Stop it, I don’t know what it means, Cora. Why the fuck do you think I’m confused?”

“I think you care about them both,” Cora says as soon as she catches her breath. “You’re not heartless, Jackson. You have too much heart, that’s your problem, and you have no idea what to do with it. So fine, whatever it is, if you’re not jealous, just roll with it. You help Stiles heal, he helps Danny heal, maybe they both help you. It doesn’t sound like it’s a bad thing, whatever it is.”

It’s not that simple. It can’t be that simple. Jackson rolls his eyes, growls softly into the phone. “Fine. When are you getting here?”

“Couple of days,” Cora admits. “I’m flying from here to Mexico City, then from there I’m flying into San Francisco. There’s an overnight in Mexico City because of the timing, and I’ve got a drive from here to the local airport. It’s a lot shorter trip than when Derek and I road-tripped across South America, but it still isn’t quick. There’s no direct route unless I know someone rich who could charter me a plane.”

“I’m not that rich.” This time Jackson is pleased when she laughs, and he rolls his eyes again at her. “You’re going to surprise Satomi, who thinks she’s met our entire pack.”

“Satomi?”

Jackson finds himself explaining again, going into detail about the other pack in Beacon Hills, and catching Cora up on all the little changes to their own awkward pack structures. She murmurs in all the right places, and at one point Jackson swears he hears pen scratching on paper, as if she were taking notes.

“I actually remember Alpha Ito, I think,” Cora muses. “I was really little the last time Mom met with her, and I don’t know any of the other people you’re talking about. I might know some of the older members of her pack, if I met them. She’ll be a good alliance, and there’s strength in numbers, but I’m not leaving you and Derek to do this alone. How’s Peter behaving?”

“Peter is an asshole,” Jackson tells her.

“Still calling him Peter?” It’s a sideways way of approaching the topic, but Jackson knows what she’s really asking.

“Even if it turns out to be true—and we don’t know for sure yet—I’m going to keep calling him Peter,” Jackson says firmly, his voice low. “He’s not exactly the Dad type, and I don’t need another one anyway, especially not another bad one.”

“Peter hasn’t always been bad,” Cora says softly. “But I agree, he’s definitely not an angel now, and I wouldn’t consider him a good influence. But I’m okay with you being family, cousin.”

It’s just a gentle flip in his stomach, a tiny notion of pleasure at the naming. “Yeah. Well. It wouldn’t be bad,” Jackson replied just as quietly. “Text me when you’re back in California, okay?”

“I will.”

The phone goes silent, and Jackson scrolls back through his texts. He opens up his conversation with Stiles, scrolling back through the late night texts they’ve exchanged. He glances up when he hears a low cough, footsteps approaching. Deputies Clark and Parrish. Oh. He shoves the phone in his pocket, crosses his arms and stands in front of the door. “Danny is resting.”

“We need an official statement,” Clark says.

“And we’ve brought messages.” Parrish’s statement is cryptic, but Jackson figures he means that Stiles’s dad sent along a message for his missing son.

Jackson grumbles, because Danny really could use more sleep, then pushes the door open. He doesn’t try to be quiet this time, letting the rings on the curtain rattle as he tugs it open enough for Clark and Parrish to step through.

Parrish goes straight to Danny’s side, both eyebrows rising when he sees Stiles and Danny wrapped around each other. “I thought you two were dating.” Parrish lays his hand on Danny’s shoulder, and there’s a sharp scent of smoke in the air. Danny inhales roughly, eyes blinking open as he focuses on Parrish. Jackson can smell the way tension falls away, can see the redness of visible skin ease.

“We are. Danny and I,” Jackson says, just in case Parrish was confused on that point. “You’re healing Danny. You’re the one from the field.”

“Yeah.” Parrish glances at Clark, who grabs the chair and wedges it under the doorknob so no one can interrupt. Jackson tenses, and Parrish raises both his hands. “Don’t worry. We just don’t want anyone walking in on a conversation about the supernatural. It’d just get confusing and odd and I know Melissa’s the only one in the hospital who has any idea.”

“True,” Danny says hoarsely. “I thought you were human.”

“So did I.” Parrish sighs. He indicates Deputy Clark and himself. “We spent most of last night with Chris Argent, talking about hunters and trying to figure out what I am. We didn’t make much progress on either point.”

“I’m still human,” Clark volunteers. “Just as human as your boys here, in case you were starting to wonder.”

She’s Hayden’s sister, that’s why she’s part of the pack.

Danny’s hand finds Jackson’s and he squeezes tightly, tugging him closer. Jackson manages to wedge his hip onto the bed, as Danny moves to make room, and Stiles flails one arm out, waking up. “Why don’t you catch us up,” Danny suggests.

“Why don’t we start with the official business, then move on to pack business,” Clark counters. She takes a notebook from the inner pocket of her jacket, clicks a pen and stands poised and ready for notes.

“I don’t know anything,” Jackson admits. “We were playing, and there was an explosion and the goal was on fire, and you brought Danny out. Once I saw Danny was in trouble….”

“You weren’t thinking about much else. That’s understandable,” Clark tells him. “What about you, Danny? Did you see anything before the explosion?”

“There was something coming at me.” Danny speaks slowly, his hand tight on Jackson’s. “I thought it was a ball, but the game was moving in the other direction, so it didn’t make sense. But it was about the right size, and it was bright orange, and I caught it in my crosse. I went to fire it back out, and the ground shook with some kind of explosion. I dropped my stick, and everything caught fire.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Then I was here. I don’t remember anything in between those two points, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.”

“There were arrows and bullets, and I saw the orange things, too,” Stiles says, his voice rough. He sits up, slides off the edge of the bed and falls into the chair, sprawling there. “Everything pretty much came from all over. It just went from nothing to everything, all at once. Did you find the hunter blinds in the woods?”

Clark and Parrish look at each other. “We found shells,” Clark admits. “And Derek says they smell like wolfsbane. They aren’t marked, and Chris says every hunter family has a mark they use. Which means either these are rogue hunters, or they are very specifically trying to stay under the radar.”

“A full scale attack doesn’t count as under the radar,” Stiles says.

“But if they don’t let us know who they are, whatever vendetta they’re on isn’t really happening yet,” Jackson muses. “If they really wanted us to pay for something, we’d know who they are. They’re in hiding.”

“They’re just trying to kill us off.”

Jackson’s stomach twists at the way Danny says _us_. “Maybe Ethan had the right idea, keeping you out of his pack. They were assholes, yes, but you’re in danger with us, too.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to keep me in the dark to keep me safe?” Danny raises his eyebrows. “Because no.”

“There’s no going back from this point,” Clark says firmly. “If they’ve been watching, they already know who’s involved and who’s not. So don’t do anything stupid. Stick together, and groups of three or more are probably best. Two at minimum.”

“Chris has been talking to hunter families, but they’re stonewalling him because he’s harboring a werewolf in his home,” Parrish admits. “He’s being reasonable, but they’re pushing back; no one wants to give him information. He’s talked to the Thanatos family up in Seattle, the Hunters out of Boston—”

“There’s a hunter family named Hunter?” Stiles looks up, eyes bright with interest. Parrish nods, and Stiles mutters, “Of course there is. You know what would be useful in addition to a better bestiary? A list of hunter families. Lineages in general. Ways to know that people are actually supernatural, or haters, and what to expect.”

“You want to catalog the entirety of supernatural beings around the world,” Danny says, amused.

“And their hunters, yes,” Stiles says. “It’d make things a lot easier and a lot less shocking when we run into someone new. It’s not like there’s a fresh scent that says _oh hey I’m a hunter_. I don’t think Scott can even tell the difference between a werewolf and a human by scent.”

“It’s not easy.”

Stiles looks at Jackson. “And most of them don’t have a dog nose to help. Anyway.” He gestures at Parrish. “You were catching us up. Go on.”

“Did you get a scent for these hunters?” Parrish asks, and Jackson has to shake his head.

“Metal, wolfsbane, old wood… but no scent of people,” Jackson admits. “It’s like they know how to hide it. Or surround themselves with so much other stuff that the scent is too subtle for me to pick out. I’d know their equipment if I smelled it, but not them.”

Parrish hmphs, and Clark makes notes.

“Chris also talked to the Calaveras family in Mexico,” Parrish says, “but they weren’t any more helpful.”

And now they’re coming to Beacon Hills. Jackson bites his tongue, tries to think of a way to say something that isn’t spilling information he doesn’t really know. “I talked to Cora,” he says. “And she’s coming up to help out. You might want to touch base with Derek, see if they’ve got any more information.”

“We’ll do that,” Clark assures him. She makes one last note, then tucks the notebook away. “Anything you want us to tell the Sheriff?”

Stiles swallows hard, his heartbeat ratcheting up as he shakes his head. “I’m sticking around here for now,” Stiles says slowly. “I’ll give Jackson a ride home when Danny gets out of here, make sure they’re okay. Just tell him I’m fine.”

Clark’s expression gentles. “I can do that. Melissa mentioned that you’d stayed, so he knows where you are.”

Parrish raises his hands, gestures at Danny. “If you want, I can help some more. I might not know what I am, but doing what I do seems to be pretty instinctive.”

Jackson squeezes Danny’s hand, moves out of the way to let Parrish in. By the time they all shuffle places in the small space, Jackson finds himself on the other side of the bed, hovering near the chair. Stiles reaches up and yanks, and Jackson stumbles back, landing half on the hard arm of the chair, half on Stiles’s lap. He swears he hears a muffled laugh, then Clark backs out of the curtained space.

“It’s too tight in here for this many people,” she says. “I’ll just wait in the hall, make sure you aren’t disturbed.”

Stiles’s hand tightens on Jackson’s wrist, and he gets the hint, doesn’t move while Parrish works. They both watch intently as Parrish lays his hands on Danny, drawing out the burns and the pain. And in some ways, it’s nice to feel the way Stiles’s fingers curl into Jackson’s, squeezing like he’s worried too, like this affects both of them.

#

It’s late afternoon by the time the paperwork is settled and Danny’s parents are pushing his wheelchair to the hospital entrance. Jackson and Stiles trail behind, giving them some private time together. He doesn’t miss the dark, disappointed look that Mrs. Mahealani sends his way, but he squares his shoulders, jaw tight, and refuses to address it.

“I’ll make sure you get home okay.” Stiles nudges Jackson and they veer off toward the Jeep. Danny’s at the edge of the parking lot, pushing himself to his feet, and Jackson smells a low undercurrent of pain. He turns back, pauses in the middle of the parking lot, and watches as Danny slowly makes his way to where his father parked.

“He’s going to be fine,” Stiles says, voice low. “He’s stronger than he looks.”

“Danny’s one of the strongest people I know,” Jackson replies. “And right now I feel like all I’m going to do is get him hurt. I keep waiting to be thrown out, because I’m too much trouble for his parents. The other shoe is going to drop. Or else one of these times, Danny’s going to come to the hospital and he’s not going to come home, and it’ll be my fault. Like Clark said, we’re in too deep.”

“You know that’s not true, right?” Stiles stalks away, yanks the door to the Jeep open. There’s a sharp edge to his voice. “That’s what you keep saying to me: it’s not my fault. I can’t be responsible for things someone else did in my body. Well, you can’t be responsible for assholes trying to blow your boyfriend up.”

“You were scared, too.” It’s the first thing Jackson thinks of, and when he climbs into the passenger seat, Stiles is hunched over his phone, jabbing at the screen with his thumbs. Stiles sends whatever he was typing, and drops the phone on the seat.

“Buckle up.” Stiles pulls out of the parking space as soon as Jackson’s settled, driving with swift starts and jerky stops until he’s on the street and can open up to decent speed. “Yes, I was worried. Fuck, I thought Danny was going to die. He’s human. He’s not a werewolf, and most people can’t survive being burnt into a crispy critter. I knew Scott would be okay, and I figured Isaac would heal from whatever hit him. And he did, at least according to texts I’ve gotten. But Danny’s human, so yeah, I was scared.”

“So was I.” Jackson licks his lips. “I’ve never been that scared in my life. I thought I was going to lose him. And this is the second time this year that Danny’s almost died because of supernatural bullshit, and I just… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Stiles says quietly, and Jackson hears the skip of his heartbeat and wonders if Stiles is trying to convince himself that that’s true. He reaches across the space between them, touches the back of Stiles’s hand and hears the loud thump of his heart in response. Jackson scowls and pulls his hand away.

“Of course he is,” Jackson replies. “He’s got us to watch over him. Nothing’s going to fuck with an ex-kanima and an ex-nogitsune.” There’s soft venom in his words, anger at who they were. But it still shapes them. He can see the image of the nogitsune in everything Stiles does now, and he wonders if everyone else looks at him and sees the kanima shaping every move.

Stiles’s phone buzzes, but he ignores it until he pulls into Danny’s driveway, parking behind Jackson’s shitbox of a car. Stiles picks the phone up, glances at the message and dismisses it before shoving the phone into his pocket. “Let’s go see how Danny’s doing.”

Jackson opens his mouth—he should tell Stiles to go home, see his father, get some rest—then lets it snap closed again without saying a word. He pushes the door open, climbs out of the Jeep and slams the door with a creak. He should tell Stiles to go, yes, but if Jackson were in his shoes, as anxious as he can smell that Stiles is, he wouldn’t want to leave either. “Fine, yeah, let’s go in.”

Danny’s parents are at the kitchen table. Mrs. Mahealani looks from Jackson to Stiles, then back again. Jackson can’t interpret the scent coming off of her. Worry, yes, but something else. His back stiffens and he crosses his arms.

“Danny’s settled in upstairs,” Mr. Mahealani says. “Go on up, but let him rest tonight. He’s staying home from school tomorrow.”

“I think we all are.” Stiles smiles ruefully. “Until this is over, we’re sticking together, and figuring shit out. The school is a battleground. It’s not safe.”

That’s why Jackson was almost sent to London, once upon a time. He wonders if Danny’s parents are thinking about heading out to Hawaii, where Danny’s grandparents live.

Stiles claps a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, pushing him with the touch. Jackson stalks out, not wanting to face that parental disapproval, not wanting to try to explain that things will get better. Because he’s not sure they will, or when they will. He just wants to make sure they all survive whatever’s coming.

“Hey.” Danny has his laptop on his knees, and he pauses the sound. “I’ve been told I get fed in an hour and I’m expected to sleep after that, so don’t expect anything much out of me tonight.” He yawns, and Jackson can smell the exhaustion in his scent.

“Movie,” Stiles suggests, nudging in next to Danny on one side.

“ _Veronica Mars_ ,” Jackson counters.

“Logan Echolls?” Stiles leans over, pokes at the keyboard.

“I have a thing for assholes,” Danny says drily, pushing at Stiles’s hand. “Don’t touch. I’m the invalid, I’m picking the movie.” He taps through to his queue and clicks on _Boy Culture_. Stiles’s hand falls to Danny’s arm. Stiles tilts his head, makes a noise of acceptance, and leans back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Danny.

Jackson waits for that twist of jealousy to start, and when it doesn’t come, he whines softly.

Danny lifts an arm, makes space for Jackson on his other side. It’s tight to fit all three of them on the bed, but they manage it, without completely uprooting the laptop.

By the time the movie’s done, Danny’s asleep. Jackson picks up the laptop and moves it to the desk while Stiles quickly strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed. He gives Jackson a look, as if daring him to say something, and Jackson only smirks as he pushes off his own clothes. He stands there for a moment, naked except for the collar around his throat, before he lets himself fall into Kula’s form and leap onto the bed.

It’s comfortable, lying across both Danny’s and Stiles’s feet, listening to them breathe the soft breath of sleep. It easy to fall asleep this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, and sorry this is so late going up! It's been a busy weekend, and I'm glad to finally be getting here. Thank you for all the lovely comments, and I'm so glad for everyone reading and hope you are still enjoying. Sort of a quiet chapter, after the last, huh?
> 
> Anyway, next update will be on Wednesday, December 7th. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	11. Chapter 11

“I’m fine.” Danny sits up in the bed, his arms crossed, the blankets covering his knees. Stiles is on the desk chair, swinging idly back and forth, while Jackson stands, his own arms crossed, echoing Danny’s stubborn posture. “Get dressed, Jackson.”

“I’m wearing boxers.” Because Jackson woke up first and slid out of bed to find them before either of the other boys woke. “It’s enough.” There’s a doorbell in the distance, which may mean it’s not enough, but he’s not backing down. Instead he sits down on the edge of the bed, nudges his way back into Danny’s space, stretching out next to him. “I don’t think Stiles minds the view.”

There’s a low flush suffusing Stiles’s cheeks. “I don’t care either way. I’m not staring at your ass.”

There’s a skip in his heartbeat; Jackson’s pretty sure that Stiles is definitely staring at his ass.

“Look, you can both get dressed and get out of here. Go do something. Figure this mess out,” Danny orders. “I’m fine, and I don’t need babysitters today. Either of you.”

Jackson glances over at Stiles, who finally looks back. Jackson drops his gaze to the spot on Danny’s other side, and Stiles makes a huff of irritation before he gets up and drops into the space. He’s just in time as the door pushes open and Malia bursts through, making a beeline for the bed. She drops onto it with a thud, arranging herself happily across all of them. “You smell better,” she says to Danny. She buries her face closer to his skin, and snorts loudly. “Your bed reeks of—” She cuts off, pulling back to glare at Stiles. “Don’t poke me, Stiles. I was going to say his bed reeks of you. And them. You stayed here.”

“Malia, please stop sniffing the guys.” Lydia walks in, waving an envelope in her hand. She pauses long enough in the doorway to take in the sight, one eyebrow arching delicately. She pulls the chair closer and sits on it, feet crossed at the ankles and tucked back. “It’s obvious Stiles stayed here. His hair is still puffed up all over. He hasn’t even showered.”

“I can smell,” Malia says sagely, and Stiles nudges at her.

“Give a guy a break. We just woke up.”

“And now I have four extra people in my room instead of two.” Danny glances at Jackson. “I know why you’re here—you’re an over-protective wolf. Why is everyone else here, too?”

There’s a swift rush of embarrassment and worry in Stiles’s scent, and thick amusement lacing Malia’s scent.

“We’re here because of this.” Lydia brandishes the envelope again. “I have results, and Malia and I knew that Jackson would be here. Stiles is an added bonus, and it’s up to you whether you want him here when you find out the results.”

“He can stay.” Jackson doesn’t need to think that over. “It’s fine with me.”

“Me too.” Malia moves so that she’s squishing Stiles closer to Danny as she lies on Stiles’s other side, almost falling off the bed. She wraps herself around Stiles, and Jackson growls low in his throat. “What?” She blinks at him.

“We don’t all fit on the bed like this. Stop jostling Danny.”

Danny gives him a look, draws his feet up. “We can fit. Just need to arrange ourselves differently. It’s fine.”

Stiles’s breath hitches. “No, Jackson’s right. Malia, floor.” He points and she goes, followed by Stiles. It gives Jackson and Danny plenty of space, but does nothing to soothe the itch under Jackson’s skin. He growls again, quieting when Danny’s hand falls against his lower back.

Lydia’s eyebrows are both up. “If we’re done, I could open the envelope.”

Jackson motions for her to go on, and Lydia slits it open with one long fingernail. She pulls out the paper, her head tilting slightly as she reads it.

“Well?” Malia asks, impatient.

“Nothing can be absolutely conclusive without your mother’s DNA, and obtaining that would be a miracle,” Lydia says slowly. “But according to these results, it is highly likely that you both share DNA with Peter. In addition, the test comparing you to each other indicates that you would be more likely to be full siblings than half, which implies that Peter impregnated a single woman, and then was forced to forget her.”

“I’m a month older than Malia.” Jackson remembers this detail from what little they’ve found so far.

“And there’s probably an explanation,” Lydia counters. “We just need to find it. You can’t argue with science, Jackson. While we have to admit to the presence of the supernatural in our lives, science still follows hard and fast rules. It is highly likely that Malia is your twin.”

“We can dig into it,” Stiles offers, gesturing between himself and Danny. “From the police side, from the medical side. If there are things that need hacked, Danny’s brilliant.”

“I’m not going to jail for Jackson. We’re trying mostly legal methods first,” Danny says dryly. “Remember, I’ve already got a major strike on my record.”

Stiles waves his hand as if erasing the thought. “We’ll handle it. Now that we have an idea what we’re looking for, we can find a starting place and start digging.”

“My mother wasn’t my mother,” Malia says slowly. “Was my sister my sister? Is my father my father?” She looks up, and Jackson tries again to find something of himself in her features as he shakes his head.

“You’re probably adopted. Like me,” he says quietly. “On the other hand, we have each other.”

“And Peter.” There’s a low snarl underlining her words.

“I don’t think we should mention this to him yet.” Lydia shrugs when Jackson looks at her. “Nothing’s certain, and it’s not as if we can give him any conclusive information. At this point, it’s entirely conjecture.”

“Based on _science_ ,” he reminds her of her own point from moments before.

Her smile is thin. “Do you really want Peter involved in the remainder of the investigation? It’s best that we wait until we know exactly what we want to say to him.”

“I still don’t like him,” Malia sulks. “I like Derek. I’m okay with Jackson being my brother. But I don’t like Peter.”

“You’ll like Cora,” Jackson says. “She’s coming into town later today, and she’s Derek’s little sister. I like Cora.”

“And we all know Jackson’s picky,” Danny quips. Lydia’s snort is inelegant, muffled by a hand over her face. Whatever Stiles says is swallowed by Malia choosing that moment to kiss him, then nuzzle against his neck. Jackson whines softly, lets Danny pull him close and cradle the nape of his neck.

“Fuck you,” Jackson mutters, and Danny kisses the side of his head.

“That sounds like my cue to leave.” Lydia stands gracefully. She pauses, a frown furrowing her forehead, and Jackson hears the buzz of all of the phones going off at once. “Or maybe not.” She sinks back into the chair and pulls out her phone.

Jackson’s not sure where his phone is at this point, so he grabs Danny’s from the nightstand and tosses it to him.

“Derek’s heading out to pick up Cora, and the pack is on its own until he gets back,” Lydia reads out.

 _Good to know,_ Scott texts as Jackson reads over Danny’s shoulder. _Stiles, pick up your phone. Where are you?_

“Right here, dude,” Stiles mutters. He nudges Malia from his lap and goes hunting for his jeans, finding his phone. He winces when he looks at it. “Oh dude, I did not hear that vibrate. Three missed calls.”

 _Stiles is with us at Danny’s place_ , Lydia texts.

 _They all seem to think I need babysitters_ , Danny adds to the group text, and it explodes in a flurry of commentary about injury and taking care of the humans until Scott intercedes.

_We’re coming over._

_Danny’s not going anywhere_ , Stiles replies in text, and Danny throws a pillow at him.

“My parents are here, we should probably tell them we’re about to have a pack invasion,” Danny points out. “Especially since it seems like our alternative to school and jobs is hanging out at my house. I don’t think they realized that this much social time came with the new dog.”

“I’m _not_ a _dog_ ,” Jackson growls, and there’s laughter all around. It feels light and easy, and strange in the midst of all the worry about people trying to kill them. But it’s nice.

#

By the time everyone else arrives, they’ve set up the living room and are as ready for a pack meeting as they can get. Scott and Kira arrive together, along with Melissa. The Sheriff arrives just behind them, Clark and Parrish in his car along with Hayden. Liam stalks in just ahead of Mason and Brett, yelling, “Do _not_ blame me for him being here.”

Brett takes up a spot on the side of the room and leans against the wall, an amused tilt to his mouth. “The packs are cooperating, Liam. I’m here to help; I’m not a spy, and neither are Hayden or her sister. You didn’t have to bring me.”

Liam glares at Mason. “Yes. I did.” Jackson smells the lingering want in the air around Mason as he stands near Brett, leaning slightly into his space. Jackson snorts softly in sympathy.

Peter arrives at the same time as Chris, and the two walk in arguing about what the unmarked bullets could mean.

“Not every hunter has a mark,” Peter says dryly. “Some are proud, like the Argents. Some are all too willing to claim the damage they do. Some like to hide, like a snake in the grass, hissing in near silence until they strike.”

“If anyone knows how snakes hunt, it’s you,” Chris informs him.

Melissa comes out of the kitchen, hooks an arm through Chris’s and tugs. “Come on, both of you. Us old folks are in the kitchen having parental conversations. Let the kids be kids. We’re close enough to keep them from doing anything stupid.”

“We haven’t figured out a good plan yet,” Stiles tells her.

“And when you do figure one out, you won’t do anything about it until you include us in the conversation,” Melissa replies firmly. “You do your brainstorming, and we’ll do ours. And yes, Peter, you are nominally an adult. Get in the kitchen.”

“Would Derek be a child or an adult?” Peter muses as he goes, and there’s no response that Jackson can hear after the door closes.

There’s silence for a moment, and everyone looks at Jackson and Malia. Jackson spreads his hands, shakes his head. “It’s not my fault he’s in the parent group,” he mutters.

“I’m just glad he’s not lurking around us.” Lydia’s voice is firm. “Now, according to Derek, he’ll be back with Cora in a few hours. That means we have more help, and we need to figure out a plan of attack. Or at least a plan for safety.”

“We could patrol,” Mason suggests, and Kira echoes her approval of the idea. Malia leans in close to Kira and they start discussing options, while Clark stands up.

“No,” she says firmly, and she looks at Hayden when she says it again. “No. You’re just kids, and you’re not going out on patrol like this is an episode of _Buffy_.”

“We may be kids, but you’re not sitting at the adult table, either,” Stiles points out. He holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Just saying.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not cooperating with them.” Liam points to Hayden and Brett. “It’s not happening, don’t try to force it.”

“Like any of them would be the one to force something,” Hayden snaps at him. “You’re the one who loses his temper when anyone even comes near you. Maybe you should go out, just punch a hunter in the face or something.”

“I’m not going to punch a hunter in the face!” Liam protests.

“You’d be more likely to try to bite them,” Scott says. He gets his hands on Liam’s shoulders, tries to pull him back from where he and Hayden are nose to nose. “Calm down, Liam.”

Liam shrugs Scott away. “I’m calm!” he yells, and Jackson bites his tongue so he doesn’t say that Liam reeks of boiling anger, all hot sweat and a thundering pulse.

“Right. You’re calm,” Hayden says dryly. “You smell perfectly calm. Like a zen garden. _No_. You smell like ozone in the air before a lightning strike.”

Poetic. And not helpful. Jackson winces at Scott grabs for Liam when he takes a swing at Hayden, who ducks and swings back, her claws out. Clark grabs onto Hayden and pulls her back.

“Are you going to punch me again?” Hayden yells. “Is it sixth grade all over again?”

“I wasn’t trying to punch you in sixth grade!” Liam shouts. “I was trying to punch Elliot!”

“And I was trying to stop you!”

The door to the kitchen opens with a sharp thud, and everyone goes silent. The Sheriff glances out, his gaze sweeping across the crowded room before settling on Parrish and Clark. Clark is still holding onto Hayden, keeping her from scratching at Liam. The Sheriff smiles thinly. “A little less fighting between our own packs might help,” he says dryly before he leaves again.

“I was expelled for that,” Liam mutters, pushing Scott’s and Mason’s hands off of him. “I’m fine. I’m not going to attack anyone.”

“And that’s how he ended up at Devenford Prep,” Brett says. “Thank you for the gift of having Liam Dunbar with us. And how did that turn out for you? Oh right, you destroyed Coach’s car.”

“I had reasons.” Liam’s expression is mutinous, and he smells like a fresh explosion is coming.

“Calm down!” Scott’s words have the edge of a roar, his eyes bleeding red. Jackson sits abruptly, landing in Danny’s lap. Malia hisses, eyes flashing blue before she retreats to the edge of the room. Hayden backs up into her sister, and stands there, scowling, while Liam ends up sitting on the floor.

The heavy weight of the air recedes, and Scott sighs. “We’re not going to get anywhere if we can’t work together. I don’t need you to like each other, I just need you to try not to kill each other while we figure out who’s trying to kill us.”

“The enemy of our enemy is our friend,” Stiles says. “We have a common enemy, so let’s deal with that first.”

“I’m out,” Liam snaps, and Scott points at where he’s sitting.

“You’re in. Sit down, shut up, and start planning.”

Jackson’s phone buzzes, and he shifts so that he’s not crushing Danny while he fishes it out of his pocket.

_I’m on the ground and Derek’s smiling. What is this? What have you done to my brother?_

He tries to swallow his snort, muffles it by kissing Danny before he can reply.

_Maybe he’s just happy. If you ignore the fact that there are hunters trying to kill us, everything else is pretty good._

The reply comes quickly. _Yeah, well, he just about crushed me while hugging me. I don’t know where you found him, but this is the Derek I remember_.

It feels good that at least one of them is doing better, that someone is getting past their trauma. Jackson smiles to himself and sinks into Danny’s hold, lays his head on his shoulder and lets the conversation swirl around him. He has nothing to add to this, no new data to give. They aren’t going to figure anything out today. This is just about the packs trying to figure out how to work together. All of them.

#

“Stiles.” The Sheriff’s voice is sharp, cutting through the conversation. They moved past planning long ago, and the living room is now littered with empty pizza boxes and sated teenagers. Malia still has a piece in one hand, and she growls softly, like someone might try to take it away.

Stiles doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled on the floor, his head pillowed on Scott’s knee. “Yeah, Dad? Daddy. Daddy-O.”

“This party’s breaking up, and it’s time to head out,” the Sheriff says firmly. “You have five minutes, then I want you in the car.”

It’s a signal for everything to wrap up. Everyone pitches in, cleaning the space up and taking the trash out, leaving it as neat as when they got there. Mrs. Mahealani makes pleased noises when she sees the way they all work together, and Jackson wonders just what the adults have been talking about behind closed doors.

He could have listened, yeah, but he suspects he would’ve been bored. He doesn’t want the whole conversation, just the interesting outtakes.

“Hey, come here.” Danny gets a hand around Jackson’s wrist, pulls him down the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door behind them. It won’t do anything if another wolf decides to listen in, but it’s an illusion of privacy, and Danny’s voice drops low. “How does Stiles smell?”

“I haven’t been sitting around sniffing him all afternoon,” Jackson grumbles. Danny just waits and Jackson has to think back, because he’s caught his scent on and off. “Worried. Tired. No, exhausted. Malia’s been all over him, but he’s been frustrated and not really aroused by it. He just seems like he’s dragging.”

“That’s what I thought. Make sure he gets home okay.”

Jackson blinks, uncertain. “He’s going home with the Sheriff, Danny. I’m pretty sure they don’t need an escort. They have guns, and the threat is entirely human.”

“He’s physically safe, sure.” Danny cradles Jackson’s head, rubs lightly at his temples. “I’m not sure about the rest, and we don’t want to encourage Malia to go crawling in his window. When she gets home, she needs to stay home.”

“I think she’s staying with Kira tonight.”

“Good.” Danny brushes his lips against Jackson’s, and Jackson reaches out to grip his hips, drag him closer. He doesn’t want a light kiss, he wants a deep one, wants to sink into his boyfriend’s grip and sate his hunger. Danny’s hand slides to cradle Jackson’s head, fingers along the line of his collar, and Jackson whines softly, nipping at Danny’s lip. He’s rewarded by a deeper kiss, by the way their hips fit together and the way Danny’s hand slides under his shirt, stroking his back.

It doesn’t make Jackson want to leave.

“Just makes sure he gets home okay,” Danny says softly when the kiss breaks. “Go with him, then run back. I want you here with me when you’re back, and I know you’re not going to sleep if you’re worried about Stiles. So go with him.”

It makes a kind of sense, getting the conversation done now so Stiles can sleep and Jackson won’t be texting after midnight. Jackson just isn’t sure if it’ll work; Stiles doesn’t seem to like talking in person as much as he does over the phone.

Jackson adjusts himself, tucking everything back into place before he emerges from the bathroom. He catches up with Stiles in the living room, knocks into his shoulder. “Let’s get outside before your dad wonders where you are.”

“Us?” Stiles asks, although he goes when Jackson pushes him to the door.

“Yes, us. You still reek like anxiety, and I’m going with you. I’ll run back later.” Jackson says it like it’s his own idea, and he can almost smell the way Stiles considers it, turning it over in his mind.

Stiles hesitates at the back door, glances at the empty kitchen. “Change now,” he says, chin lifted. “Change now, and come with me as your wolf.”

“Kula,” Jackson corrects him, even though it’s really Danny’s name for him. Jackson skins his shirt off, shoves his jeans down. He knows Stiles is watching him, tastes the flare of hunger in the air as Jackson strips naked. It’s only for a moment before he falls to his knees and lets the change wash over him. Jackson sits by Stiles when he’s done, leans his head heavily against Stiles’s thigh and whuffs.

Stiles threads his fingers into Jackson’s fur and strokes his head. It feels good, and Jackson lets him get away with it for a few minutes, until the Sheriff calls again from somewhere outside. Jackson head butts Stiles, and they head out.

Stiles has to drive his Jeep, following behind the Sheriff’s car. Jackson curls on the passenger seat, lets his head lie across the center so that he almost touches Stiles’s arm. He catches Stiles glancing down at him, a scent of confusion in the air.

“It scared me,” Stiles says when they pause a street light. He’s staring out the window, his scent thickening with anxiety. “What happened Friday night, it scared me. Terrified me. I knew Scott was going to be okay, he’s a werewolf. And pretty much everybody that’s part of our pack that was actually on the field is a werewolf. And Danny’s not. And the last human who got caught in the crossfire—she died.”

Stiles licks his lips, fingers flexing where they grip the steering wheel. The light changes, and Stiles pulls out, silent for a moment. He seems to shake something off, shuddering before he speaks again. “I don’t want to see that happen again.”

Jackson whines softly, butts his head against Stiles’s wrist. He’s rewarded by Stiles moving the one hand to fall atop Jackson’s head, fingers threading gently in his fur.

“It’s not your fault what happened to Danny,” Stiles says softly. “And it’s not mine either. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling like shit about it, like maybe I should have done something differently. I’m glad Parrish was there, whatever the fuck he is. And I’m glad you were there. And I just….” His voice trails off, hand tightening for a moment before he pulls away. He laughs ruefully. “I need to remember that you’re Jackson, not just a dog who has no idea what I’m saying. It’s funny, right? You hated me. And now you’re the only person I know how to talk to anymore, because you’re the only one who really gets what I went through. I bet you hate that.”

Jackson whuffs. He doesn’t hate it. He wouldn’t be in the Jeep right now if he didn’t want to be. He noses against Stiles’s hand, but Stiles holds onto the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers and doesn’t let go.

“I get the feeling that it’s only going to get worse before it gets better, and I don’t know what to do about it,” Stiles says in a rush. “There’s my Dad and Melissa. They’re human. Danny’s human. Lydia’s… well, she’s not human, but I don’t think being a banshee gives her much in the way of supernatural powers other than screaming.”

 _Stiles_ is only human, and Jackson isn’t going to let him ignore that. He whuffs again, more urgently when Stiles ignores him. The tension in Stiles’s shoulders is thick and deep, his hands shaking where they grip the wheel. Jackson lurches forward, butts his head against Stiles’s shoulder. When Stiles pulls up to a stop sign and glances at him, Jackson licks his cheek.

Some of the tension seeps out as Stiles laughs, rubbing at his face. “Idiot. You deserve all the dog jokes after that.”

The silence doesn’t feel as dark when they move on. It doesn’t cling to Jackson’s fur, make it difficult to breathe. He inhales and tastes anxiety, but he also tastes pleasure and calm. He licks at Stiles’s hand, then retreats to his own seat and curls around himself until Stiles pulls into the driveway.

Stiles throws the Jeep into park. “I have no idea what to do with you,” he says quietly. “And I really don’t want you to turn human in order to tell me, because this is not a conversation I want to have while you’re naked. Which is really disconcerting, Jackson. I know you do it on purpose but we get it. We all get it. You look good, and you don’t care who knows it. So stop showing off your naked ass just so you can shift in front of us.”

Jackson yips, indignant; Stiles told him to shift and how else was he supposed to do it?

“My point is… I have no idea what my point is.” Stiles rubs at his face. There’s a knock on the window, and Stiles opens the door, waves at the Sheriff. “I’ll be inside in just a minute, Dad. Jackson said he’ll run home, so you don’t need to worry about him.”

“Five minutes.”

Stiles pulls the door mostly shut again as the Sheriff walks away. “Thanks for letting me stay there and make sure Danny was okay.” Stiles pushes the door open, spills out of the car.

Jackson shifts back to human so he can open his own door, gets out and stands there, the car blocking most of him from Stiles’s view. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Stiles looks back, eyes wide when he sees Jackson standing there. “Dude, are you naked in my driveway? You know that Mrs. Armsbruster is peeking through the curtains, staring at that ass.”

Jackson huffs, because of course someone’s looking. He knows that he’s exposed. “Just answer the question, Stiles. Are you okay?”

Stiles hesitates, and that alone is telling. The whiff of anxiety, fresh in the air adds to the answer Jackson has long before Stiles speaks. “Not really,” Stiles admits. “But I’m better than I was. And I’m glad Danny’s okay, and I’ll be better when you make your ass furry again and lope on out of here.” When Jackson doesn’t move, Stiles points at the ground. “Shift, Jackson. I’ll be fine, I promise. And if I’m not… I’ll text you later, okay?”

It’s not the right answer, not entirely. But Jackson’s pretty sure it’s the best answer he’s going to get. He shifts back to the wolf and takes off at a run, using the pace to give his mind time to settle.

It’s obvious that Stiles cares about Danny. It’s obvious that he gives a shit, and that feels like it should bother Jackson. But it’s okay, like a piece of his pack has come together, and Jackson has no idea what to do with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! I hope your week is going quickly and nicely. Sorry for the lateness of the post! I am thankful to the sysadmins here at AO3 for being able to bring the server back up and keep things running for us.
> 
> Thank you so much for your lovely comments, and for reading! The next part will post on Sunday, December 11th. Until then, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com), or if you want to see what else I do, you can check out my original web serial at [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


	12. Chapter 12

Jackson stares at the phone in his hand. He knows he needs to make the phone call, but a part of him dreads it. He cycles through his contacts rather than going to his favorites list, taking the slowest path to his mother’s name. When he finally presses the button to make the call, he leaves it on speaker, lets the sound of ringing echo inside of Danny’s room.

She’s breathless when she picks up. “Jackson?”

“Hi.” He bites his tongue, pauses when the door opens. “Oh, hey. Danny just walked in. You’re on speaker.”

“Do you need to call back another time?” she asks, as Danny closes the door with a small thunk, his brow furrowed in concern.

“No, now’s good. It’s fine. I just wanted to catch you up on some things, so you don’t worry.” Jackson’s trying to work through the words in his mind. As he pauses, he hears the sigh from his mother and the slight uptick of her heart.

“I heard what happened at the game,” she says quietly. “Danny, I’m glad you’re doing better. It sounds like it was a harrowing experience.”

“Could’ve been worse, but thankfully we’ve got someone who can heal burns in the pack now,” Danny says easily. He sits on the bed next to Jackson, budges close. “Which didn’t stop Jackson from panicking, or acting like my protector.”

“Jackson has always been very determined on your behalf,” Jackson’s mother says. “I remember how he refused to leave your side when you had surgery. So yes, Jackson, I am aware of exactly how dangerous your life has become. Again. Have you reconsidered visiting me in London?”

Jackson laughs ruefully, stares at the phone in his hands. “I need to stay here. Things aren’t all good, but they aren’t all bad, either. And there are a lot of us, all working together. All the packs are coming together to help each other. Even one we didn’t even know was in town until recently. Plus Cora’s coming to California, and I don’t want to leave Malia.”

“How is she doing? Is she adapting to school? It must be hard.”

Jackson’s impressed by how well his mother has handled the changes in his life, and how she asks after his new pack; it’s a long way from where they began months ago. “It’s not as bad as you’d think. She hates math, loves reading, and she thinks history is fascinating, because it’s stories about things that were real. And I’m doing okay, too. My grades are good. Someone’s helped me catch up.”

“Thank you, Danny.”

“It’s not just me, Mrs. Whittemore. Lydia’s been keeping him in line, too. And Jackson’s just behind because he missed a few months.” Danny leans into Jackson, his hand sliding behind him. It’s distracting when Danny slips his hand under Jackson’s ass. Jackson glares at him; Danny smirks.

“Anyway. I wanted to talk to about something else. About Malia.” Jackson gets the feeling that he needs to push the conversation along, before Danny nudges him in directions he doesn’t want his mother hearing.

“Oh? Have you moved beyond friendship?”

“What?” Jackson looks from the phone to Danny, shakes his head quickly before he remembers she can’t see it. “No. Definitely no. I’m dating Danny, and there is no way in hell that I’d ever date Malia. She’s probably my sister.”

Silence after a soft exhalation. Her heart is swift, her breath low, but she doesn’t say a word.

“Mom?” Jackson hears the hitch in his own voice and he hates the way he sounds like he needs something. Danny reaches out with his free hand, tangles their hands together and holds on tight.

“Congratulations.” He can’t read the tone of the single word, but he thinks it’s honestly said. There’s no hitch in her heart. “I can’t believe your parents didn’t mention it to me, Danny.”

“They probably thought I already had,” Jackson mutters. “Sorry. Yes. I should have said something before now.”

“I still love you,” she says, and Jackson smiles slightly.

“I know.”

“And Malia?” Her voice is careful now. “How do you know she might be your sister? Although I suppose—can a coyote and a wolf be related?”

“That’s part of it, because we could both shift fully.” Jackson explains what Lydia found, and the tests they’ve had done. “We’re trying to find more detailed information about our births now, something to link us to each other. And to Peter.”

“So that would make Derek and Cora your cousins? It’s good you seem to get along so well, now.” There’s a pause, a scratch of pen on paper. “I’ll send something to the lawyer, Jackson. We have paperwork for your birth parents. They were dead, so in that respect, it was an open adoption. There was no point in hiding their identities from us, and we wanted you to have that history in the future, for medical history purposes if need be.” A low, dry laugh. “I didn’t suspect it would be in order to prove that you’re from a line of werewolves, but I suppose anything is possible, isn’t it?”

“It’s not what I expected either,” Jackson admits. “Could I take a look at the records? I’ll go over to the office and pick them up later this week if you tell him I’m authorized. I can’t ask him directly; I’m not eighteen yet.” Which reminds him of something. “When do I get my Porsche back?”

“When I’m certain it’s not going to be destroyed in the midst of some supernatural war,” his mother says sharply, although he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Which means never,” Danny translates, and Jackson grumbles because that’s probably true.

“Or when you’re eighteen, at which point you’ll be responsible for insurance and repairing any damage it takes,” she offers. “I think you can wait until then.”

“Fine. I can.” Jackson fiddles with the phone, shifts as he feels Danny wiggle his fingers beneath his ass. “So you’ll call the lawyer?”

“I’ll call the lawyer. And Jackson?” She waits until he makes a noise of assent, then says softly, “Take care of yourself, and take care of your pack and Danny. I love you.”

He touches the phone, knows she needs to hear the words when she’s worried about him. “I love you, too.” Love is still such a complicated sensation in his mind, but it’s easier to say the words every time, now that he’s acknowledged they are as much for her as for himself. He ends the call, and just barely manages to get the phone on the nightstand before he’s on his back, Danny stretched over him.

“You just want to make out in the Porsche,” Danny says.

Jackson licks his lips, because that wouldn’t be a bad idea. “Maybe. Or on the hood. It’s cramped in the seats. Been there, done that. Maybe we should find someplace else for ourselves.”

“I’m fine making out right here.” Danny presses close to Jackson’s throat, and Jackson turns his head, grants access. Danny licks a gentle stripe along the line of his neck, presses kisses until Jackson whines, hips lifting. Then Danny withdraws, straddling Jackson hip to hip. He grabs both of Jackson’s hands, presses them over his head, leans to look down at him.

“What?”

“You’ve been anxious, and you called your mom out of the blue,” Danny says, expression serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong except for the fact that you’re a tease and started something and now you’re stopping to have a conversation.” Jackson jerks his hips up, reveling in the fact that for a fleeting moment there’s pressure as Danny presses back. Then Danny moves and the pressure’s gone and Jackson whines at the loss. “Asshole.”

“You’re not going to talk about it?” Danny squeezes his hands, where they’re still joined together above Jackson’s head.

“You almost died,” Jackson reminds him. “You almost _died_. I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m here now.”

“And we were making out, but you stopped.” Jackson could get his hands free if he pulled hard enough. He twitches in Danny’s grip, twists his head up, reaching for a kiss. Danny rewards him by pushing him back down, kissing him, tongue sweeping into his mouth and taking his breath away. Jackson shivers, and Danny bears down on him, pressed close along the length of their bodies, from mouths to hips.

“We’re not stopping,” Danny says softly, kissing the hollow of Jackson’s throat. “Just pausing. I’m okay, you know that right?”

Jackson hears Stiles’s voice in his mind telling him that it’s not his fault. His eyes flutter closed and he turns his head, unable to meet Danny’s gaze.

Danny pulls back immediately. “Jackson.” He lets Jackson’s hands go, rests his fingers against Jackson’s chest. Jackson doesn’t bother to move, knowing how submissive this feels to his wolf with his arms up and his throat bared. He whines softly, and Danny’s fingers twist in the fabric of Jackson’s shirt. “I’m okay,” he repeats quietly. “Jackson, look at me.”

Jackson turns back to look at him, meets his gaze. “You’re okay,” he says. “I know. You’re healed, and everything’s good now, and it wasn’t my fault that you got hurt any more than it was Stiles’s fault somehow. Even though he’s in a shit mood now, too.”

Danny blinks, tilts his head. “Oh. Is this because Stiles was here after I was hurt?” Danny asks. “Is that what’s getting to you?”

The sensation that twists in Jackson’s chest isn’t jealousy, it’s confusion. It’s a cold rush of _I don’t know_ that shivers through him. He pushes Danny off of him, not quite able to think while touching him, and rolls sideways. He ends up on the floor in a crumpled seat, hunched over. Danny’s fingers brush the back of his neck, twist around the collar and tug.

“Hey.” Danny’s voice is soft but firm. His fingers slide along the line of the collar, back and forth in soothing motion. “Look at me. You know you’ve got nothing to worry about, right? You don’t need to be jealous about Stiles being here, any more than I need to be jealous about the way you’ve adopted him.”

“I’m not the only one adopting people,” Jackson snarks back. “Stiles seems to have appointed himself your protector.”

“And yours.”

Jackson snorts. He doesn’t see it that way at all. “Mostly yours. He’s been crushing on you since the seventh grade. Whether he realized it at the time or not, it’s been pretty obvious. Maybe he’s just finally had his sexual awakening and figured it out, now that he knows he’s never getting anywhere with Lydia.”

“He’s got Malia,” Danny reminds him, which just makes Jackson growl and flash his eyes, twisting away to stare at the floor. There’s a soft scent of amusement in the air.

“What’s so funny?” Jackson grumbles.

“You’re jealous of the fact that Stiles is dating your sister.” Danny slides off the bed, leans against Jackson.

“She’s—” Jackson cuts himself off, presses his lips together while he seeks the right words. “They’re not good for each other. Stiles is using her to forget about things, and she doesn’t get that she’s hurting him. And I’m pretty sure he’s not interested in the part where it hurts.”

“Maybe it’s getting better.”

Jackson shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. But I don’t think it’s helping him, since he’s still just as messed up as he was.” He laughs dryly. “He was talking to Kula in the car. I think it’s easier for him when I’m the wolf. Or when I’m on the other end of a text message. Anything but actually talking to me face to face. He still thinks I must hate it, or maybe that I hate him.”

“Do you?” Danny’s hand slides under the edge of Jackson’s shirt, and Jackson leans forward, skins the shirt off with Danny’s help.

“Hate Stiles? No.” He doesn’t hate him. He’s not jealous of him. In fact, Jackson’s pretty damned sure that Stiles is pack to his wolf, an irrevocable part of his world.

Danny slips off his own shirt, tugs Jackson closer until Jackson has to straddle Danny’s legs. Danny’s hands are warm on his back, sliding up the length of his spine in soothing touch. “Good. Then we’re all friends, and no one’s jealous, and everything’s fine.” When Danny slides his hands over Jackson’s shoulders, he stops there, thumbs at the base of the collar. “Because you and me—we will always be what we are, Jackson. No matter what else happens, no matter who else is in your pack, or close to you, or close to me. We’re together, and that’s not changing. I promise.”

They’re words. They are just words, like _I love you_ , but at the same time, Jackson feels the truth in Danny’s voice. He can hear it in the way his heart beats slowly, can taste it in the air around them. Danny believes this, with his entire soul, and Jackson is willing to believe in it, too. Needs to believe in it, needs to know that this won’t be taken from him, won’t slip away when he’s not looking.

He leans in to seal the words with a kiss, lingering over the taste of Danny. It’s soft and slow and easy, and he feels Danny smile under his touch.

“I’m not perfect, you know,” Danny says quietly as the kiss breaks. “And I know you’re not. I don’t expect you to be. You don’t have to live up to anything or be anything special in order to have me. You’ve already got me just by being you.”

There’s the bang of a door in the distance. Jackson cocks his head, listens for the sound of the car starting up, the slow roll of the vehicle down the driveway, and the faint creak of bearings that need lubrication when it turns out into the street.

“Did I forget to mention that my parents are going out?” Danny asks, smirking.

That might be the best news Jackson’s had in a while. “Is that your way of saying we should move back to the bed?” Jackson touches Danny’s chest, tracing the planes of it while feeling for hidden heat. “Are you healed enough?”

“Get back on the bed and I’ll show you,” Danny says. When Jackson doesn’t move right away, Danny smacks his ass. “I said, get on the bed, Jackson. And strip.”

“Put your clothes on, Jackson. Strip, Jackson,” Jackson mocks jokingly as he stands up, undoing his zip quickly and pushing his jeans and boxers down in one motion. He rolls his eyes, a slow smirk starting as he meets Danny’s gaze. “Make up your mind.”

Danny runs his hands up Jackson’s thighs, thumbs along the inside, getting all too teasingly close before he pulls away. “Naked’s fine, as long as it’s the right time and place. Like now. _Bed_.”

The depth of that one word curls in Jackson’s stomach, slides down to fill his dick with blood. Fuck, yes. He falls onto the bed, inches back so he can get his head on the pillow. He reaches up, grabs onto the headboard to hitch himself up, then leaves his hands there, fingers idly curled around the slats. He watches as Danny undresses slowly, reveals his skin inch by inch. By the time he’s naked, Jackson’s hard as a rock, his cock lying against his belly, a sticky thread dripping from the tip. He reaches down with one hand, cradles his balls for a moment before idly stroking along the length.

Danny comes up to the side of the bed, his cock bobbing near Jackson’s mouth. Danny covers Jackson’s hand with his own, strokes with him. As they reach the end of Jackson’s dick, Danny keeps pulling, puts his hand back on the headboard next to his other. As Danny takes his hand away, Jackson goes still, both of his hands stretched overhead, his body arching.

“Leave them there,” Danny says slowly, and Jackson nods.

He closes his eyes, turns his head to the side at the touch of fingers against his cheek. He feels the gentle nudge of the tip of Danny’s cock against his lips, and he opens his mouth. Danny cradles Jackson’s head, fingers just under the edge of the collar, fucking with shallow strokes into Jackson’s mouth.

He didn’t think it could feel this good, yet somehow, it does.

Jackson feels like he’s floating, anchored by the taste of Danny across his tongue, fluid spreading with every stroke. Danny’s hand at the nape of his neck keeps him in place, keeps him from feeling like he’s going to fly up toward the ceiling. Jackson’s hips lift, and there’s a hand there, just barely touching his dick. Jackson whines, and Danny pulls back.

“Don’t let go,” Danny says, “and I promise you are going to have the best orgasm of your life.”

“Going to be hard to top the last one,” Jackson murmurs. His eyes flicker open as Danny steps away. He wants to watch, wants to catalog every moment as Danny stretches over the end of the bed, mouth pressing kisses to the inside of Jackson’s thighs. Danny pulls away for a moment to grab a pillow from somewhere and shove it under Jackson’s ass, then he digs into a drawer and comes up with a tube of lubricant.

Danny holds up the tube. “This okay?”

Jackson’s pretty damned sure Danny means to use that in him, not on him. He feels like the breath’s been knocked out of him, and he nods shakily.

“Words, Jackson.” Danny clicks the top open. “I’d like to finger you—just a bit. If you want that, say yes. Otherwise, say no.”

“Yeah.” The one word punches out of him. Jackson’s tense, uncertain. He’s never done this before, never thought about this part, and maybe he’d just been avoiding thinking about it. Other than that one fleeting touch when Danny was sucking him off that once, there’s never been any attempt to… _fuck_. Jackson’s hips jerk up as he feels something warm and slick sliding against his ass.

“Just letting you know what it’ll be like.” Danny drops the tube on the bed. “Orgasm of a lifetime. Promise.”

“I trust you.” That doesn’t mean that Jackson’s not terrified. But he tries to relax because this is Danny. It’s _Danny_ , and they’re naked, in bed, and he knows it’s going to feel good. Whatever they do.

Danny gets both hands on Jackson’s thighs, presses his legs wide apart, then he nuzzles along the length of his cock. It’s wet and warm, soft breath followed by Danny swallowing him down. Jackson thrusts up, and Danny pushes hard against him. Danny makes a noise, and it sounds like a growl, a clear statement of, “No.” Jackson stops moving immediately, and the touch eases.

Every bit of Jackson’s attention is focused between the feel of the slats beneath his fingers as he clings to them, and the wet swirl of Danny’s tongue around his dick. It’s too much and not enough, all at once. “Danny….”

“Let me take you apart.” Danny takes him in, sucks him off sloppily, and Jackson whines. It feels good, but it’s too wet, not enough pressure. He wants more. His hips twitch, but Danny leans on him, refuses to let him move; Jackson shudders with the tension of staying still.

Danny cradles his balls, rolls them gently before he presses further back. One finger moves in slick circles over Jackson’s perineum, sliding through the mess of lube Danny already painted across his ass. Jackson tenses at the first touch to his tight hole, breath shuddering again as Danny stops, holding his finger pressed lightly against the pucker while continuing to lap at Jackson’s dick.

There’s a careful press. Jackson cries out as his body gives way and lets Danny in. His back bows, head back, and there’s a creak from the wooden slats that he holds.

“Don’t break my bed.”

Jackson forces his grip to ease, tries to hold on without leaving finger marks in the wood. “I won’t,” he pants. “Fuck. That feels….”

“Good? Bad?” Danny twitches the finger, and it slides in just a bit further. Jackson whines. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s not good or bad, just different right now. It aches a little, but every time the pain begins, Jackson’s healing takes over. “Keep going.”

It’s easier to focus now, to let his body go limp under Danny’s touch. Jackson’s hips twitch, and Danny matches the movement with his mouth and finger, each stroke taking him deeper inside of Jackson. Danny twists his hand as he takes Jackson’s dick further into his mouth. His finger touches Jackson’s prostate and _oh fuck_ , that feels good.

Danny withdraws, and Jackson whimpers. “Don’t stop, asshole.”

“Not stopping.” Danny’s hand is a slick mess when he strokes Jackson’s dick, squeezing tight at the base before he slides to the head, rolling over it. “Just pausing a little. What do you want?”

Jackson wants to not have to think. “To get off,” he growls, flashing his eyes, but Danny just laughs. Danny stops the motion of his hand, leaves it resting gently on Jackson’s hard dick as he waits for an answer. Jackson grumbles. “I like it when you suck me,” he admits. “And the finger was starting to feel good. I don’t know why you stopped.”

“I stopped because you were getting too close.” Danny lets his finger slide back, circles Jackson’s sensitive hole. “Anything else?”

Jackson inhales and tastes Danny’s musk on the air. It’s thick and strong, mixing with his own hunger, and he wants to taste it. “You,” Jackson whispers. “I want to taste you. I want your scent on my tongue, I want our scents to mix. I want you to smell like me.”

Danny pauses, then surges up to straddle Jackson’s shoulders. “Okay.” He leans down, puts his hands on either side of Jackson’s arms as he looks at him. Jackson has to tilt his head back to see Danny, but Danny touches the top of his head. “Go on.”

Jackson flicks his head over the tip of Danny’s dick, laps at the droplet there. Musk, salt… it’s all Danny, and he needs more of it. He whines, and Danny shifts his hips forward, gives him more access. Jackson can barely move, between holding onto the slats, and the way Danny’s hips trap his shoulders, but it feels good, like he’s being weighed down by his anchor. He closes his eyes and laps at Danny’s dick, opens his mouth as Danny slides forward, thrusting gently. Jackson can’t control anything but the pressure of his mouth, but from the low grunts Danny makes, he thinks he’s doing just fine.

He swallows at every small burst of taste and scent. He wants to move his hands, grip Danny’s ass and drag him closer, and his fingers flex on the slats. Danny hushes him, cradles his head and shifts his hips to slide deeper into his mouth, taking everything that Jackson will give him. Jackson groans around him and closes his eyes.

Danny’s hips stutter and he goes too deep for a moment; Jackson coughs as Danny withdraws. Danny touches the corner of Jackson’s eyes, wipes where his eyes are watering. “Just in case you’re wondering, you’re perfect,” Danny says softly, and the praise curls warmly inside of Jackson.

Danny slowly slides down Jackson’s body. He nips at soft skin, captures one nipple between his teeth and tugs. Danny grabs the lube and spills more over his hands, using one hand to stroke Jackson’s dick while the other slides back. This time the finger goes in easily, filling him with comfortable pressure. Danny quirks his finger until he finds the right spot and Jackson whines, jerking his hips. He’s close, and he gets the feeling Danny knows it, the way he strokes and then pulls back, letting Jackson relax before he strokes again.

It’s easy to get lost in it, to cry out with the rise and fall of desire. Jackson feels like he’s about to come and Danny pulls away, just stops moving. Danny’s hand is slick and tight, and Jackson fucks into the circle of his fingers. “Please,” he whines, “Fuck, please, Danny, just, please… don’t stop.” The pressure of the finger inside of him grows; Danny moves and Jackson sees stars. His fingers tighten on the slats again, and there’s a loud crack as Jackson jerks his hips up. Danny pushes his fingers in, twists, and Jackson arches off the bed with his orgasm. He comes over Danny’s hand, all over his own chest. One spurt strikes his chin and then he’s done, body limp in the aftermath.

Danny straddles Jackson’s hips, and Jackson watches through hooded eyelids as Danny strokes himself quickly, using Jackson’s orgasm to lubricate his own. Danny’s eyes close when he grunts, hips thrusting as he spills across Jackson’s chest, the smell of their orgasms mingling thickly.

Danny sits back on his heels, wipes his hands on the sheets. Jackson lies there, torn between the idea that he’s covered in a mess even while his wolf absolutely loves how he smells. He gives in to instinct and finally lowers one hand, rubs it through the mingled fluids. He paints a stripe down the center of Danny’s chest.

“Is it always this messy?” Jackson asks, and Danny laughs hoarsely.

“Doesn’t have to be, but you seem to get off on it.” Danny moves the tube of lube, then stretches out next to Jackson. He runs a finger through the mess, painting it in swirls on Jackson’s chest. “Is this what dating a werewolf is like?”

Jackson can feel the heat in his cheeks. It’s hard to admit that he does like this, that it feels good. “Apparently.”

“I’m okay with it if you are,” Danny says quietly. “But we might want to clean up a little before we stick together.”

“We can do it soon, just not yet.” Jackson reaches for Danny, ends up somehow with Danny on his back and Jackson lying half on top of him, head pillowed on Danny’s chest. Their chests are sticky where they are pressed together, and the whole room smells like sex. Jackson can listen to Danny’s heart as it slows in the aftermath. “Later,” he says, because this, right here, is perfect, and he doesn’t want to disturb it.

#

By the time Danny’s parents get home, Danny and Jackson are cleaned up and making dinner while wearing sweats and nothing else. They finish putting together something to eat and spend the evening on the couch, watching movies with the Mahealanis. It’s comfortable and easy.

Danny heads up to bed early, and Jackson follows. He’s not ready for sleep yet, so he lies there in the dark, eyes closed, listening to Danny breathe and inhaling the mixed scent that still permeates the room. Even after changing the sheets, the room smells like them, with a tiny hint of Stiles around the edges. Jackson whines softly, because he wants more of his pack, knows it isn’t perfect quite like this. And he feels slightly guilty for thinking that.

When his phone buzzes, he rolls off the bed, sits on the side where he can cradle his phone and read the barely-lit screen without disturbing Danny.

_Can’t sleep. Again._

Jackson thumbs open the long ongoing conversation with Stiles. _Nightmares_ , he asks.

 _Just things. In general. I close my eyes and it all rushes in. I don’t even need to be asleep to be miserable_.

Jackson had thought Stiles was doing better, but maybe not. _Want to talk about it? I’m not a wolf right now, but I can still listen._

 _You’re the one who wears the collar. You’ve got to expect the dog jokes, dude_.

A picture comes through after the text. Stiles is sitting in bed, laptop open. His eyes are dark, like he’s already lost sleep. _Watching Veronica Mars in your honor. Figured an asshole might be the best way to fall asleep._

There are so many things Jackson could say to that. So many things.

 _Special attention paid to, or from, assholes can be very relaxing._ That may not have been Jackson’s best choice, but at least he didn’t go for the play on words and say _fingering an asshole_. Because that would be wrong.

Silence, for several minutes. Jackson’s thinking that maybe Stiles fell asleep after all, or he’s distracted by the show, when the phone buzzes again.

_Sex on the brain? I don’t need the details about your sex life. Speaking of. I’ve got to go._

_Did I offend you? You’re the one always asking if you’re attractive to gay guys. You don’t even believe it when Danny says yes_.

Silence again before another picture comes through of the open window, and someone just out of frame. _Malia’s here. See you tomorrow_.

Jackson stares at the phone in his hand. There’s a sour churning in his stomach, a thick scent in the room that makes him feel ill. He realizes it’s coming from himself, and he doesn’t like it when he identifies it.

He’s jealous.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! And yes, Jackson just got hit with a clue stick and still isn't sure what to do with it. Do you realize we're more than halfway to the end of this story? Gah. So hard to believe that there are only 9 more chapters after this, that's just over a month of posting. Wow.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for being here, for commenting, for joining me on this ride. I hope you're enjoying. The next part will post on Wednesday, December 14th. See you then, and if you want to find me before that, come see me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	13. Chapter 13

There’s blood on Stiles’s skin again.

Jackson can smell it lingering in the air. He takes the seat next to Stiles at the lunch table, leans a little closer as he inhales, then settles back into his own space. Soap. Spicy shampoo. Anxiety and tension combine into a sour scent underneath the blood.

Jackson reaches under the table, lets his hand fall on Stiles’s thigh and tries to reach for the pain that he knows has to be there. If Malia drew blood, it must hurt. There’s a brief rush of euphoria in Stiles’s scent, a flicker of musk followed by swift arousal, then anxiety flashes hot and Stiles jerks away, glaring at Jackson.

Jackson’s eyes flare blue instinctually, the corner of his mouth curling. The reaction fades quickly, but Stiles keeps glaring at him, his scent now hot with irritation.

“Don’t start fighting now,” Scott says, leaning across the table. “I thought you two had buried the hatchet.”

“Are you fighting?” Danny nudges Jackson, reaches behind him to poke Stiles. “Who started it?”

“We’re not fighting,” Jackson mutters. He opens his lunch, hands the apple past Stiles to Malia and takes the plastic cup of oranges that she passes back. “I just bumped into him. It’s crowded at the table now.”

“It’s going to get more crowded soon.” Malia turns her phone, waving it to show the long string of text messages. “Cora’s here. I like Cora, and I’m going to convince her to stick around and go to school with us. She’ll make it more interesting here.”

“As if being hunted isn’t interesting enough,” Stiles says dryly. “Priorities, Malia.”

“Being hunted is interesting, and we’ll protect the pack. That’s why she’s here,” Malia says bluntly. “Math, on the other hand, is boring. I don’t care how much Lydia likes it, I still don’t.”

Jackson’s phone buzzes and he slips it from his pocket to glance at the notification.

_What really happened?_

Jackson rolls his eyes, gives Danny a look that fails to convey his irritation. Danny’s leaning across the table, trading some kind of lacrosse tips with Isaac and Kira as they draw plays on the table in trails of water drops. Fine. Jackson unlocks his phone and types back to Danny.

_He smells like blood again. I tried to take his pain and it got awkward._

Danny doesn’t even look at Jackson, just glances at the message on his phone and nods once before falling right back into his conversation.

“Move over.” Hayden nudges her way between Liam and Mason, dropping her tray on the table before she wedges herself into the small space so she can sit. When Liam stares at her, she stares back, eyes wide. “What? Pack solidarity. Social politeness. Don’t stare, it’s rude.”

“We’re not doing this.” Liam puts his hands on the table, pushes up just as Scott grabs the back of his shirt and shoves him back in his seat.

“Yes, we are. Stay right there. You two can make it through one lunch of polite small talk,” Scott orders. “One lunch. That’s all I’m asking.”

Stiles leans closer to Jackson, murmurs, “And tomorrow it’ll be another lunch, then a pack meeting, and next thing you know Liam and Hayden will be best friends forever.”

“Speaking from experience?” Jackson knocks his knee under the table, and Stiles flushes. There’s a low level musk in the air, suffused with warmth. On Stiles’s other side, Malia grins and turns to him, kisses his cheek. Stiles’s blush deepens and he looks at the table as Malia’s attention returns to her phone.

“Well, we managed to get past enemies and be friends, right?” Stiles says quietly.

Scott points across the table. “If those two can do it, anyone can. Trust me, Liam, no one hated each other more than Jackson and Stiles used to.”

“They still fight,” Liam sulks.

“We do it out of love,” Stiles quips. “See?” He grabs Jackson’s shoulder, yanks him close and plants a wet kiss on his cheek. Jackson makes the mistake of inhaling as he does it, catches a whiff of arousal flooding Stiles’s scent, mixed with irritation and still that underlying scent of blood.

It makes Jackson’s head spin.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he refuses to look at it again, not wanting to know what Danny has to say this time. It buzzes several times in a row before falling silent, and Jackson can relax again.

“Most of the school thinks it was a stunt.”

Jackson has no idea what Mason means; the conversation changed when he wasn’t paying attention.

Mason gestures at Danny, then Isaac. “Because you guys are fine, they think it was just some kind of a stunt. In the end, no one actually got hurt, even though people were taken to the hospital. People have been talking about it all day. They saw Brett get shot and go down, but he was fine later. Isaac took an arrow and a face full of wolfsbane, and he’s back in school. And Danny was ground zero for some kind of incendiary and he’s sitting right there. Rumor has it you two,” Mason indicates Danny and Jackson, “were making out before gym in the locker room this morning, and everyone got a good look at Danny to see that there are no burns. Anywhere.”

Jackson feels the heat in his cheeks. “It’s possible that one’s true,” he mutters, sneezing as Stiles’s scent goes sour.

“The point is, no one knows what to think. The school’s trying to convince Coach to reschedule the game against Devenford Prep, and Coach was on the phone with the superintendent, trying to convince her that she should cancel all athletic activities, or at least the one’s he’s involved with.”

“How do you know all this?” Kira asks.

“I listen,” Mason says, the words echoed by Liam’s _he listens_. Mason grins at his best friend. “Besides. Coach is loud. And he seems to think that whoever attacked the school was personally after him, since it’s always the lacrosse team getting in trouble.”

“Coach just has all the werewolves on his teams,” Scott says with a sigh. “I haven’t met a werewolf who plays football yet. Or basketball.”

“Derek,” Stiles points out.

“Swim team,” Jackson says. “Coach wasn’t involved in that.”

“You weren’t a werewolf yet,” Scott counters.

“I will be next year.” Jackson’s grin is full of teeth. “And I plan on leading that team to the championships.”

“Maybe we should survive this year, first,” Lydia suggests. She drops her tray with a small clatter, and takes the seat next to Malia. “Jackson, Cora says you should try replying to her texts, and when you get the chance, call her. Malia, we’re going out after school. Kira, if practice is canceled, you’re coming with us.” Her gaze falls on Hayden, and her brows furrow together. “You’re coming, too. We’ll be bonding over buying shoes. My father’s treat.”

Hayden pulls back a little. “I don’t know….”

“Just come; Lydia’s not going to take no for an answer,” Malia says sagely. “I have six pairs of shoes, and she’ll make me buy more.”

“It’s fun!” Kira grins. “Really, you’ll enjoy it. It’s the best kind of pack bonding.”

Jackson’s pocket buzzes, and this time he pushes away from the table. “I am going to go call Cora back before she drives me nuts texting me,” he says. He figures it has to be her, after what Lydia said. He leans down, kisses Danny quickly, then heads into the hallway.

He has two missed messages—one from Cora and one from the lawyer. He presses play on the one from the lawyer first, leaning back against the wall as he listens.

“Jackson, your mother contacted me and has asked me to deliver to you copies of the papers concerning your adoption. The folder will be available any time after two today; all you need to do is stop in and provide appropriate identification to the receptionist. There is no need to make an appointment. Should you need anything else, please send over your request and I will obtain authorization from your mother.”

Jackson clicks to save the message, just in case there’s an issue later. He huffs out a sigh, lets his head fall back against the wall. It’s another piece of the puzzle, and maybe this one will have some answers.

“What did Cora want?”

Jackson jerks away from the wall at the sound of Stiles’s voice. He looks down at the phone in his hand, switches over to messages to see a trail of _call me_ from Cora. “I don’t know yet. Just listened to a voice mail from the lawyer.” He glances down the hall toward where Coach’s room is. “I don’t care if we have practice today or not; I’m not going. I’m going to go pick up the copies of the paperwork from the lawyer.”

Stiles stands there with his hands in his pockets, swaying slightly forward and back. He shrugs while Jackson watches him. “Want company? I could take you over there and Danny could take your car home today.”

“Danny drove.” They switch off, since neither of them have great cars. “So yeah. I’ll let him know, and that’s….” Jackson rubs at his face, a little overwhelmed. “Company would be good, yeah.”

“Unless you think Danny wants to….” Stiles’s voice trails off as he ends with a shrug.

“He’s got a followup appointment. After the whole smoke inhalation, hospital visit, and miracle healing.” Jackson hadn’t really thought about how he’d get home today. He’d just been running on automatic, had figured that there would be practice after school. He hadn’t really thought things through.

“So let him know—” Stiles cuts off when Jackson’s phone buzzes. “Is that Cora?”

Jackson nods, presses to accept the call and puts the phone to his ear. “You know I’m in school, right?”

“Didn’t someone bug everyone else when they were at school?” Cora asks. “You weren’t texting. I figured maybe your fingers were broken. Or busy. Keep doing what you’re doing, we can talk.”

“Cora, no.” He has no idea what she’s trying imply. “What’s going on?”

“You’re coming over tonight.” Her voice is firm. “No arguments. This is a Hale pack thing. You, me, Derek, and Malia.”

“And if I bring someone with me?” Jackson glances at Stiles. “Is Peter going to be there?”

“No Peter.” There are muffled sounds, and Cora comes back. “If you’re bringing someone, they should be pack. And plan to stay. We’ll put something on the floor and everyone can crash. If we’ve got a pack, we are going to rebuild it. I don’t think Derek even remembers how packs really work. And I want my family.”

“I’ve got to run an errand after school. I’ll be over after that.” Jackson gives her long enough to acknowledge what he’s said, then he hangs up. The first bell rings, signaling time to head to class. Stiles lingers nearby, scent flooded with curiosity. “Pack night,” Jackson clarifies, shoving the phone in his pocket. “We’ll pick up Danny after we finish with the lawyer, then we can go to Derek’s.”

He’s surprised when Stiles doesn’t question his inclusion. Stiles just nods, and claps a hand against Jackson’s shoulder. “I’ll see you at the Jeep after school,” Stiles tells him and heads off down the hall.

Jackson inhales, tastes the air. Even with the blood still lingering, the light scent of pleasure and calm is evident. It’s the best Stiles has smelled all day.

#

“We have a name!” Stiles crows, waving the piece of paper. “Jackson, your mother’s name is Maryanne Bellman and your supposed father’s name is Jack Bellman.”

Jackson can see the exact same information for himself, staring down at a different piece of paperwork from the folder. He wonders if he was named for this unknown man who probably isn’t even his birth father. He wonders if his parents thought they were giving him that legacy.

Danny’s hand at the small of his back is calming and gives him an anchor to lean into. Danny hasn’t bothered to grab anything from the folder, leaning into Jackson and reading over his shoulder.

They have names. An address. A date for the adoption and a copy of the death certificate for each of his parents. Jackson’s gaze skates over the information, not wanting to know the exact trauma they suffered when they died. “Do you think Malia and I survived because of Peter’s blood?” he asks quietly. There’s a low shiver building, because he can imagine this. He can imagine just how bad this accident must have been, just how awful it was for his parents. “Because it must have taken some kind of a miracle for us to survive that.”

Stiles stands up, still staring at the paper in his hands as he moves to the couch, drops down next to Jackson. He slides into the divot left by Jackson’s weight, ending up hip to hip. “I think there was someone else in the car. Let me see that.”

Jackson relinquishes the paper to Stiles willingly, not wanting to look at the detailed list of injuries again. When Danny noses against his shoulder, Jackson tilts his head to the side, lets Danny nuzzle the soft skin and kiss and nip at him. Jackson shudders, and Stiles glances over, blinking.

“Maybe you guys want to wait until you get some alone time for that,” Stiles says, shifting in his seat. Jackson tastes musk in the air and when he tries to tease apart the scents, he knows some of it is his own and some is Danny’s, but some also belongs to Stiles.

Jackson smiles slowly, licks his lips, and Stiles’s heart races before he looks away. “It’s not like we’re going to start fucking on the couch in front of you,” he says.

“Maybe,” Danny whispers open-mouthed against Jackson’s skin, soft enough that if he weren’t a werewolf, he’d never hear it.

“If I’m the only one actually interested in these records, then maybe I’ll just go in the other room and make a few phone calls. Give you two some privacy.” Anxiety, irritation, and his heart still racing as Stiles glances over at them. And musk, fresh musk when Stiles’s gaze drops to where Danny’s hand rests against Jackson’s thigh. Stiles swallows hard, pushes to his feet.

Jackson reaches out, wraps his fingers around Stiles’s wrist and tugs him back down. There’s a grunt and a fresh wave of arousal as Stiles lands half on top of them. “What did you find?” Jackson asks.

Stiles tugs his arm away, re-settles himself next to Jackson. Danny moves, and Jackson realizes that he’s reached past Jackson, his fingers now resting at the nape of Stiles’s neck. Stiles goes silent, his head dropped forward as he inhales roughly. Stiles lifts the paper, shakes it a bit. “There was someone else in the car,” Stiles says slowly. “None of this says it explicitly, but there was something that caught my attention, and when you look at the injuries and match them up… it looks like Jack Bellman was sitting in the back seat. Maryanne went through the windshield; I’d bet she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. And Jack was crushed by the impact to the car. I can’t tell for sure without seeing the accident report, but I don’t think either of them was actually driving the car.”

“So there was someone else there.” Jackson speaks slowly, trying to decide what this means. “Do you think it was Peter?”

Danny shakes his head. “Doesn’t make sense. Why would he wreck the car, nearly kill his kids, and then Talia takes his memory? Something’s missing.”

“I need to get the accident report.” Stiles doesn’t move this time, leaning back. It presses him closer to Jackson, and Danny’s fingers curl around the base of Stiles’s neck. “Clark or Parrish—they’re our best bet. Parrish is eager to please; he wants to be part of whatever’s going on. At least until he figures out what he is, I think. And Clark would do it for pack community building, or whatever you want to call it. To make up for all the fighting Hayden and Liam are doing. My dad would just want to know what we’re doing, and why.”

“Then call them.” Jackson nudges Stiles’s knee with his own. “We’ve got somewhere we need to be, so let’s get this done and get out of here.”

Stiles blinks at him, and Danny pulls back. “We’ve got what?” Danny asks.

Jackson explains about the Hale pack gathering, and Danny nods along, but Stiles looks wary. “I told you about this earlier,” Jackson grumbles. “This is not a shock.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you meant to bring me.” Confusion swirls in the air around Stiles, thick enough to choke Jackson. It irritates him, pricks at his skin.

Jackson pushes away from both of them, taking several steps before he turns back to look at where Stiles and Danny sit on the couch. “Cora said we’re staying there tonight, so I’m going upstairs to get something to wear tomorrow. I’ll pack something for you.” He doesn’t say whether he means Stiles or Danny or both, just heads upstairs before they have a chance to say anything in reply.

He stops when he gets to the top of the stairs, tilts his head and listens but there are no voices for a long moment. He finally hears Stiles drawl, “Hey, Parrish. I need you to do something for me. Pack stuff.”

It’s not what Jackson was expecting. On the other hand, he doesn’t know what he was expecting, not exactly. So he ducks into Danny’s room and grabs enough clean clothes for the three of them. If everything happens to already smell like Jackson, they’ll never know.

#

The door to Derek’s loft slides open and Cora stands in the way, staring at them. “Huh,” she says, before calling out, “Jackson’s here! He brought Danny and Stiles.”

“They’re pack,” Malia calls back. “Of course he brought them. Should I have brought Lydia?”

“Do you want to pack cuddle Lydia?” Cora asks, and there’s a huff while Malia considers the question.

“No,” she finally decides, as Cora lets them in and slides the door closed behind them.

“We’re here for… cuddles?” Stiles asks. He makes it down the few steps into the loft and Malia launches herself at him. She climbs onto his back, wraps her arms around him, and nuzzles his neck. “Hey, Malia.”

She slides down his back and grabs his hand instead, tugging him toward the couch. “Sit down.” She nudges him and he stumbles back onto the couch, Malia snuggling in close next to him.

“Huh,” Cora says softly, her gaze fixed on Jackson. “Green is not your color.”

“Shut up, Cora.” Jackson grabs Danny’s hand, manages to get them space on the couch as well. Stiles and Danny are squished in the middle, with Malia on Stiles’s lap while Jackson squeezes in next to Danny. It’s tight, and possibly uncomfortable, but there is no way in hell Jackson’s moving.

Derek comes down the stairs, pausing halfway down, gaze narrowing. “What are you doing?”

“Cuddling,” Cora says, and it sounds and smells like she’s barely holding back laughter. “We might as well join in, dear brother. I’m starting to feel left out, and you’ve forgotten how to be a wolf. Come on.” She pulls a mattress off the bed from the corner of the room and tugs it into the space in front of the couch. She flops down on it and tugs on Jackson’s ankle until he ends up on the floor with her, leaning back into both Danny’s and Stiles’s legs. “Get comfortable.”

Derek sinks to sit on the mattress at the other end, leaning back against the couch. He tenses up when Malia’s hand falls to his head, but his scent eases into pleasure when she idly combs her fingers through his hair.

“When I was hurt, Derek stayed with me,” Cora says quietly. She lies against Jackson, lets him take her weight. She wraps his arm around her center, idly strokes patterns into the skin on the back of his hand. “And when he was hurt, I stayed with him. That’s what packs do. We touch. We hold on. We groom each other, because it helps us heal. We’re human, but we’re also wolf, and we have to remember that. I didn’t have a family growing up, but I had a pack. Derek didn’t have anything other than Laura, and then he lost her.”

“Well, now you’ve got us,” Malia says. “Right, Jackson?”

“Right, and we keep getting closer to figuring out how it happened.” Jackson licks his lips, tries to keep his heart steady. He knows how Malia already feels about car accidents. “We have a name now, and we’re working on getting the accident report. We’re tracing it down, step by step.”

“Because the blood test says he’s my brother, and says Peter’s our father.”

“Probably,” Jackson reminds her, and Malia huffs.

“Fine, probably. If it turns out it’s not true, does it change anything?” Malia asks.

Stiles’s heartbeat skips slightly, and Danny’s hand on Jackson’s shoulder squeezes. Cora tilts her head, looks back at him, and shrugs one shoulder.

“Not really, no,” Jackson decides. “This is pack, right here.”

“Which is why Cora’s coming to school.”

Derek laughs outright at that. “If you can get her to do that, Malia, I’ll be impressed.”

Cora scowls. “I’m not going back to school. I’ve finished back home. I don’t need to go to school here now.”

“For pack?” Malia asks, and Derek starts laughing all over again.

“Maybe for now, just for a little while,” Cora concedes. She pushes herself to sit upright, turns to face everyone else. “So like I told Jackson and Derek, the Calaveras are on the move. They’re a hunter family out of Mexico, and they’re heading here. I’ve dealt with Araya before, back home, and they’re tough, but they’re fair. When they saw that we were leaving everyone else alone, they left us alone. She’s not the kind of person to go rogue. Plus, she can’t be the one who attacked since she got on the road about the same time I did.”

“We need to meet with her,” Derek says. He tilts his head back, slouches a little. When he shifts, his feet are across Cora’s lap, his head by Malia’s knee. It’s the most relaxed Jackson can ever remember seeing him, and the pleasure in his scent is intoxicating.

It eases Jackson’s tension, and he lets himself slouch as well, head tilting to pillow against Stiles’s knee, neck bared for Danny’s hand.

“Something brought her here,” Stiles muses. “So maybe she’s got more information than we do. Do you think she’d come here if she thought there were hunters going rogue?”

“I think she’d come after a monster, if she thought one was here,” Cora says slowly. “Which means either someone has told her our pack is made up of monsters, or there’s something new coming.”

Stiles goes quiet, the sour note filling his scent. Jackson runs his hand along Stiles’s calf; he just wants that scent to go away. Cora’s gaze drops, watching Jackson, and he feels heat in his cheeks. “So, what now?” he asks, just to fill the silence.

“We reach out, try to get them to come to us to talk. At least the Calaveras are a known quantity,” Derek says.

“And in the meantime, movie night.” Cora crawls across the floor, climbs up half on Malia to reach for the remote lying on the table. “Pack bonding. Sprawl, be comfortable, groom your neighbor. No making out with boyfriends, though; this is a PG kind of night.”

Cora yanks, and Malia tumbles onto the mattress. Stiles looks at her, scent uncertain, and Danny shoves him from behind. Stiles falls into Jackson’s lap, and Jackson pushes him down on the mattress, tangled with Cora and Malia. Derek and Danny join them, and by the time the movie starts playing, Jackson doesn’t care what it is. If this is what pack and family are supposed to be, he’s okay with it. Because he can feel his own tension easing, can smell the way everyone slowly relaxes. Nothing else matters but this, at least for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pack cuddles!! All the Hales in one happy place (plus a couple extra). There is this image I have of Hale cuddles after the end of the story, a future thing. If I had any capability with art, I'd have to draw it. Ah well.
> 
> Thank you for being here and for your incredible comments!! So much love for all of you. The next chapter will post on Sunday, December 18th. See you then! And until then, you can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	14. Chapter 14

Jackson wakes into the softness of early morning light spilling in through the huge windows of the loft. The closeness of nearby buildings keeps it from being too bright, but it’s still enough to bring him to consciousness, despite the warmth and comfort of being surrounded.

First rule of sleepovers is still not mentioning the morning wood.

It’s hard to ignore it. He’s wrapped around Stiles, his hips pressed against Stiles’s ass, his arm tight around his chest. Danny curls behind Jackson, holding on just as tightly, hips idly shifting where he ruts in his sleep against Jackson’s ass. Jackson’s head is pillowed on Cora’s hip, Stiles sleeping against her leg, and Cora’s fingers drift slowly through Jackson’s hair. It takes a moment to realize that Malia is sprawled across Stiles and Jackson both, her head on Jackson’s thigh, legs tangled with Stiles’s legs. Jackson can’t see Derek, but when he inhales, he catches the scent from nearby, maybe on the other side of Cora.

The tangle of scents is comforting, blending into something that Jackson files away as _Pack_. He shifts slightly, and Stiles whines, rolling onto his belly and away from Jackson. Danny tugs Jackson backwards, and he lets Danny draw him into a kiss.

“PG,” Cora mutters sleepily. “I can smell you, y’know.”

“…’S a perfectly normal morning reaction,” Stiles mutters into the mattress, one hand sweeping out to swat Cora’s shoulder. “Shuddup.”

“So, you always wake up ready to—” Cora’s cut off, and Jackson pulls back from Danny enough to see Derek with his hand over Cora’s mouth while she tries to get free.

“Some of you have to get to school,” Derek reminds them.

Stiles groans into the mattress, and Malia mutters, “Math is not worth getting out of bed for.” But Derek nudges until they both fall off of the mattress onto the floor, while Danny tugs Jackson out of the way.

“Pack,” Jackson says, with a small smile.

Derek releases Cora, who pushes at his shoulder, laughing and growling. “Pack,” Derek replies, and that says it all.

“I’ve got to get you guys home,” Stiles says. “We brought clothes, but you guys didn’t grab your stuff for school.”

That may have been an oversight. “We could skip,” Jackson suggests, and Malia echoes the idea enthusiastically.

“You’re going to go.” Derek pushes to his feet, makes his way into the kitchenette. “I’m not supplying breakfast or coffee, so that’s your impetus to get out of here. Go home, eat.”

“I’m borrowing your car to drive Malia home.” Cora slides her feet into slippers, grabs the keys from a bowl on a table. “Come on, sleepyhead. I know Lydia’s picking you up in a half hour.”

Jackson manages to get his stuff together. He throws a shirt at Stiles and another at Danny, gives them both a chance to get changed before they head out. He ends up trailing behind them both as they head down to the Jeep, and Danny takes the front passenger seat before Jackson gets a chance to argue.

There’s a flash of uncertainty in Stiles’s scent when he glances over at Danny sitting there.

“Thanks for the ride home.” Danny leans back, relaxing. He turns slightly to look at Stiles, and Jackson shifts to sit in the middle of the back seat so he can see both of them.

“Yeah, of course, no problem.” Stiles drums on the steering wheel as he drives, the tattoo of his heart an underlying counterpoint to the beat of his fingers. Jackson inhales, tastes lingering arousal in the air.

Danny stretches, arms going behind his head, his shirt riding up.

A swift rush of musk floods the air, and Stiles’s fingers clench on the wheel. “It’s a good thing you warned me we’d be staying. My dad wouldn’t have been thrilled if I just didn’t come home.”

“At least Malia wasn’t climbing into your empty room,” Danny says.

Stiles’s fingers flex, then tighten again.

“Pity you ended up with that asshole using you as a teddy bear rather than your girlfriend.” Danny hooks a thumb in Jackson’s direction; Jackson lets his eyes flash, growls back at him.

The air tastes sour.

“I’m not stealing your boyfriend,” Stiles says flatly.

“I know.” Danny twists to reach back and Jackson catches his hand before it can touch him. He grips Danny’s wrist, holds it carefully while he sucks one finger into his mouth because he can.

Musk again, thick and rich, several scents in the air all mixed together, including Jackson’s own. He wonders if he and Danny have enough time before school for a quick shower together. Maybe the Mahealanis will already have left for work.

Danny smirks, pulls his hand back as they pull into the driveway. “Jackson, can you take the stuff in? I need to ask Stiles something.”

Stiles gives Danny a wary look. “What did I do?”

“Why do you think you did something?” Jackson leans between the seats, grips Danny’s head and yanks him close for a kiss. He lingers over it, until Stiles coughs, his scent rough with discomfort and arousal. Danny raises an eyebrow, and Jackson sits back, grumbling. “Fine. Don’t take long. I’m going to shower.”

Jackson climbs out, and he heads for the house, his ears perked. He tilts his head, tries to hear past the rattle and hum of Stiles’s Jeep, but the background noise hides Danny’s low voice.

Fine. It drives Jackson nuts that he can’t hear what Danny’s saying, but there’s nothing he can do about it. If it’s important, Danny will tell him later.

#

Information passes between packs easily during the school day, passing the message about the Calaveras to Satomi. When Brett drops into his seat at the lunch table, he smiles tightly. “Satomi’s seen the Calaveras. They’re here.”

Isaac has his phone out, scrolling through messages while Scott looks over his shoulder. “Yeah,” Isaac says, his expression clouded and his scent uncertain. “Satomi’s talked to Chris about it, and he just told me he’s going to offer his place to Araya Calaveras to stay at while she’s here.”

Scott nudges Isaac. “You can move in with me for now. The room’s still open.”

“And the Scott and Isaac bro show begins again,” Stiles mutters under his breath. Jackson shifts his knee, presses against Stiles from one side at the same time as Danny slides into the seat on Stiles’s other side. Stiles glances from one to the other. “Why am I the middle of this sandwich?”

“Brett’s in the way next to Jackson, and I’m pretty sure that pushing him closer to Mason will make Liam climb across the table to separate them.” Danny tosses a pudding cup at Jackson. “Our lunches are far safer this way.”

Jackson pulls out his lunch, hands an apple to Malia and drops a package of peanut butter cups in front of Stiles. “It’s not like we need to be glued together every second,” Jackson points out. “You aren’t sitting with Malia.”

He has no idea how to interpret the scent in the air as Stiles’s jaw goes tight. Stiles picks up the package of candy, turns it over in his hand, staring at it. “We haven’t indulged in nearly as much PDA as the two of you have,” Stiles finally says slowly.

“And I get to see Danny every night,” Jackson reminds him. At the swift sour note in the air, Jackson presses his knee against Stiles’s again and is relieved that the acrid scent fades. He can’t stand the smell of Stiles being upset.

“Dude, do we want to do some kind of pack thing with the Calaveras?” Scott pokes at Stiles from across the table, and Stiles perks up with curiosity.

Jackson focuses on his food, the sandwich gone in only a few bites, followed quickly by an apple. He lingers over the pudding, licking it from the spoon and trying to ignore the conversation around him. His gaze shifts, looking out over the lunch room.

 _Allison_.

His chest goes tight when he spots her, dark hair curled around her shoulders. She’s walking with some girl that Jackson doesn’t recognize, her head slightly bowed as she hugs a stack of books to her chest. He can’t hear her voice over the hammering of his own heart, can’t tell what she sounds like or what she’s saying. But she’s here. She’s in the room, walking like she belongs here.

It’s not possible.

“Hey.” There’s a hard knock against his knee, and Jackson exhales like the air’s punched out of him. A hand against his back, and Jackson looks up, meeting Stiles’s worried gaze. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Stiles says quietly.

“Or like you’re going to have a heart attack.” Danny rises up behind Stiles, one hand on Stiles’s shoulder as he leans closer to Jackson. “You okay?”

He shakes his head once, then quickly changes it to a nod when he realizes the entire table’s gone silent. “I’m fine,” he grinds out, grits his teeth as he stands up. “Just realized I forgot about an assignment. I need to go deal with it.”

Brett turns away to talk to Mason, Kira gets drawn into the conversation with Scott and Isaac. One by one, the attention of the pack falls away from Jackson, leaving just Danny and Stiles still watching him. Stiles wraps a hand around Jackson’s wrist as he stands up.

“You don’t look fine,” Danny says, and Jackson forces himself to smirk because there is no way in hell he’s discussing this in front of the pack.

“Seriously, I just remembered a thing, and I need to go check into it. Can’t fail now.” Jackson shrugs his shoulder, shakes his hand to try and gently loose it from Stiles’s grip. “Let go, Stiles.”

Stiles squeezes before he unwraps his fingers. “Don’t get lost in whatever it was,” he says soberly, and it sounds like advice from one trauma survivor to another. It makes Jackson worry about Stiles in turn, and he settles his hand on Stiles’s shoulder and squeezes in quiet acknowledgment.

“I’ll be fine, promise.” Jackson bends long enough to capture a kiss from Danny, then grabs his bag and heads out.

His nostrils flare as he exits the dining hall, but there’s no scent that makes him think _Allison_. He doesn’t think she could have gone too far, so he just needs to start moving through the hall, looking for the two girls.

He finds her at a locker near his own, staring at the lock, her books on the floor. She has the lock in one hand and twists the dial as her brow furrows; she tugs, and nothing happens.

She definitely doesn’t smell like Allison.

“Do you want help with that?” Jackson offers.

She looks over at him, eyes wide and startled, and he realizes that her eyes are lighter than Allison’s, almost green at the center. She’s not quite as thin, a little curvier. Now that he’s close, he can see and catalog every small difference, but the similarity remains eerie enough to be a punch to the gut.

“Sure,” she finally says, dropping the lock and backing away. “It’s a stupidly simple combination but most of the time it won’t open. 42. 15. 7.” She says the numbers evenly, ending on a sigh. “Most lockers are broken though, right? It’s like, no one ever has the funding to replace the locks, so we’re stuck with ones that either won’t open or won’t close. I never locked mine back at my old school, but Gran warned me that things are… a little rougher here,” she admits, her gaze dropping. “She said I should lock my locker, anyway.”

“Your old school?” Jackson spins the dial on the lock and it doesn’t open on the first try. He cocks his head, listening to the small clicks of the tumblers, until on the third try he realizes the numbers on the combination are wrong. “It’s 42, 13, 7,” he says, as the lock slides open. “I don’t know if they record them wrong, or they change as they get old, but it’s happened to a friend of mine, too. She has to stop every number one lower than it should be.”

“Thank you.” She pulls the door open, carefully puts the books on the shelf and extracts another one. She turns back to Jackson, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and it’s eerily like watching Allison do the same thing. “I’m Beth Jaeger. I just transferred here for my sophomore year because I moved in with my Gran.”

“Jackson Whittemore.” It’s polite to offer his hand. When she takes it, he inhales to taste nerves and curiosity, the scents fading when he steps back again.

“I know.” Her cheeks pink. “I saw the lacrosse game, and they announced your name with your number. It was absolutely awful what happened, I was so scared. Gran swears this place is cursed, but it can’t be, can it? Things like that don’t happen all the time.”

They happen far more often than they should. Jackson bites back the words, deciding on something more calming. “Not every game, no, but we try to keep people excited about lacrosse. Just usually with a lot less injury to the team.”

“Your friend,” she says in a rush. “Is he okay? It looked like he… like he….”

Jackson gets a hand up. “He’s fine, actually. Miracle. He’s back in school and he knows just how lucky he is.”

Maybe he’s wrong, but he swears he smells satisfaction in her scent.

“I’m glad he’s okay. I’m hoping to start with the gymnastics team next year, but Gran’s not thrilled about the idea,” Beth admits. “I think if she had her way, I’d go to school and come straight home and she’d lock me away until I’m thirty, just in case.”

“It’s not really that bad here,” Jackson lies easily. He knows how to put on a charming smile, so he does, leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed. She tilts her head, plays with her hair, but there’s no scent of attraction in the air. Interesting.

“Well, that’s good to hear. I’m only a sophomore, and life was exciting enough back home. I’m hoping for it to be a bit calmer now.”

Jackson takes the opening. “Is that excitement why you moved here?”

“I had to go somewhere, and Gran was willing to take me in.” Beth’s tone goes flat.

There’s a rush of scent in the air, jealousy and guilt, flooding the hall enough that Jackson knows Stiles is nearby with Danny. Jackson straightens up, and Beth cocks her head curiously.

“Is something wrong?” Beth asks.

“My boyfriend,” Jackson says, just as Danny calls his name. Jackson raises a hand, turns slightly to look down the hall. Danny has a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, while Stiles stands perfectly still, his scent more agitated by the moment. “I need to go,” Jackson says.

“Oh, yeah, I understand.” Her voice is disappointed, but her scent isn’t. “I’ll see you around, Jackson. Thanks for helping me with my locker. It was really nice to meet you.”

#

“Dude.” Stiles grabs Jackson’s arm, yanks him around the corner as soon as Jackson reaches him and Danny. “If she’s what you were staring at, I see why it freaked you out.”

“She doesn’t look as much like her up close.” Jackson could probably draw out the differences if he tried, but he doesn’t want to sketch Allison. Not when his final memories of her are so dark. “Her name’s Beth. She’s a sophomore, just transferring in.”

“Think she’s supernatural?” Danny slides his hand down Jackson’s back, presses it at the base of his spine, nudging him down the hallway. The first bell sounds, and other students flood into the walkway.

Jackson shakes his head, then pauses and shrugs. “She doesn’t smell like anything other than girl,” he says, voice low. “She was flirting with me, but she wasn’t really interested.”

“Dude, you’re gay,” Stiles reminds him.

“Bisexual,” Jackson shoots back. “Trust me, I was all in when I was dating Lydia. Just because Danny’s a guy—” A sharp tug at his collar makes him fall silent abruptly. He glares at Danny, but slides closer when Danny drops his arm around Jackson’s waist.

“I’m gay, you’re both bi, and nobody gives a shit,” Danny says easily. “Let’s get back to the girl who looks like Allison’s clone.”

“Do you think clones are a thing?” Stiles asks as they round the corner into the hallway for their classroom.

Jackson spots Beth standing outside the classroom across the hall, talking to the girl he’d seen earlier. She glances up as she hears Stiles’s voice and smiles slightly, waving at Jackson. He hears Stiles’s heart hitch when he waves back.

“Clones are not a thing,” Danny says. “It’s a coincidence. A normal, every day sort of coincidence.”

“Nothing’s a coincidence in Beacon Hills,” Stiles mutters. “And I’m pretty sure seeing a girl that looks like the twin of someone I technically sort of killed has got to mean something.” He stops talking and makes a beeline across the room, scraping the chair when he pulls it out and sits next to Scott and Kira.

Jackson glances at Danny. “We should keep an eye on him.”

Danny doesn’t object when they take the seats behind Stiles and Scott for that class. And he doesn’t say a word when Jackson trails after Stiles between classes.

Beth always seems to be there, somehow. Sometimes she’s near Stiles’s classroom, sometimes she’s standing down the hall from where Jackson is heading if it’s a different place. But she’s there, everywhere he looks. It’s as if now that he’s seen her, he can’t unsee her. She haunts the edges of his vision.

Jackson grabs his things quickly after school and catches up with where Danny’s leaning against the locker, talking to Stiles. Danny tilts his head, and Jackson bites back a smile, because he appreciates that Danny’s helping.

“Hey, Jackson.” Stiles holds up his phone as they all head out of the school. “I heard from Parrish; he’s got that report for you if you want to swing by.”

“You could come with us,” Jackson points out. “I know you want to know what—” He breaks off when they almost walk into Beth sitting on the steps outside of the school. “Oh. Hey.”

“Don’t mind me. My Gran’s late.” She shrugs, gestures at her phone. “And she didn’t text me until after school let out—she didn’t want to distract me—so I couldn’t even try to get on the bus. I’m stuck here until she can get here at three.”

Jackson glances at Danny, “We could—”

“I’ll drop you off,” Stiles says quickly. He doesn’t look at Jackson. “Don’t listen to them when they say my car’s a death trap; that Jeep’s in better shape than the piece of crap Jackson’s driving now.”

“I drove today,” Danny says mildly.

“Whatever.” Stiles waves them off. “You guys have a thing to do. I’ll do my good deed for the day and drive Beth home.”

Beth’s brow furrows. She licks her lip, glances at Jackson. “Gran would have a fit,” she says slowly. “I mean, I know you’re a nice guy. It’s not like you’d be in high school if you were a serial killer, right? But Gran’s got this thing about how Beacon Hills is a dangerous place.”

Stiles’s heartbeat ticks up, skipping before it races onward.

“You’d be in good hands with Stiles,” Danny says easily. “And if a serial killer comes after you, he keeps a bat in the back seat of the Jeep.”

“You do?” Beth’s brow furrows.

Stiles laughs a little. “Yeah, I do. In case of animal attacks. Or falling ceilings.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t need to.”

Jackson’s not sure how he feels about this, but Stiles is already motioning toward the parking lot, and Beth stands to follow. When Stiles offers to take her bag, Beth hands it over with a small, quiet smile, and Jackson’s heart twists in his chest.

She’s not Allison. She’s like a pale imitation, too timid and too quiet, but she reminds him brutally of his dead friend. It can’t be any better for Stiles.

“You can’t save him from himself,” Danny says quietly, twining his fingers together with Jackson’s. “If he wants to somehow make up for what happened to Allison by being kind to her doppelgänger, you have to let it happen. If there’s a problem, I’m sure he’ll text you tonight.”

Jackson hesitates, and Danny squeezes gently. “You can’t fix anything for him, Jackson,” Danny tells him. “You had to solve your own problems after the kanima; all I could do was listen and pick up the pieces. If you want to help Stiles, be there for him, but don’t try to stop him from getting past his fears. She’s his swimming pool.”

Beth is, for Stiles, what the swimming pool was to Jackson. And Stiles has to face his own fear.

“Fine,” Jackson growls. He squeezes Danny’s hand back, a shade too hard, but tension vibrates under his skin. He tugs, and they head toward Danny’s car as the Jeep leaves the parking lot. “Did you worry this much about me?”

“More.” As soon as they get to the car, Danny crowds Jackson up against it, presses heavily against him as they kiss. “And it doesn’t stop, Jackson. I still worry, and as you worry about Stiles, I worry more about you.” Danny kisses the words into the skin of his throat, sighs against him. “But I know you’ll both be fine. And I’ll be here if you need help so you don’t drown.”

“I’m not drowning. Stiles is.” The analogy is stretched, but it makes sense in Jackson’s head.

“Then we’ll save him.” Danny yanks open the passenger door. “Get in, Jackson. Let’s go get some more information about the people who donated your DNA.”

#

Jackson’s read the reports three times, and Danny’s been over it at least five times. They’ve made notes, and cross-referenced them with the information from the adoption papers, and Jackson thinks it might be starting to make sense. Maybe.

“Your mother wasn’t driving the car,” Danny says. That point is definite. The car was driven by Jennifer Bellman, not Maryanne, which matches up with Stiles’s hypothesis. And according to the accident report, Jennifer Bellman was a sixteen year old girl who had only had her license for a month.

“They were rushed to the hospital.” Jackson reads the description for the fourth time; it’s clear that all three members of the family were sent to the hospital, which means that none of them were dead yet. “Maryanne had severe head trauma, and multiple broken bones.”

“She went through the windshield, just like Stiles thought,” Danny agrees. “And Jack was in the backseat—crushed by the impact.”

“And there was a pregnancy in distress.” The line says just that—one passenger was treated for a pregnancy in distress.

“Can you imagine having a second child when your daughter’s already old enough to drive?” Danny muses. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“How old is Peter Hale?” There are ages listed on the report. Jennifer Bellman is sixteen, while her mother is forty-two and Jack is forty-five. Jackson pulls out his phone, texts both Cora and Derek, not sure which one of them is more likely to give him a straight answer.

_He’s nine years older than Derek. I know, weird that they were so close when he’s so much older, huh?_

Cora answers into the group text, followed almost immediately by Derek’s reply. _It’s not weird. He’s more like an irritating older brother. He’s 32._

“He’s not old,” Jackson says slowly, staring at the phone in his hand. He holds it up, showing it to Danny. “If Peter’s only thirty-two, that means when I was born, he was only… he was…”

“He was sixteen. And a junior in high school. Just like we are now,” Danny says.

Jackson looks at the papers in front of them, at the pages of notes they’ve made. “I don’t think Jennifer Bellman is my sister. I don’t think her mother was pregnant. I think we need more information, but I think she’s the one who is actually my mother, and everyone lied about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...in which I offer up ages for the Hales, because canon sucks at that. :) But it really does become important, especially when you're trying to work out how a character who is supposed to be a parent can actually be a parent, yet was the best friend of a character who's not that much older than the high school kids. And the answer, in the end, is all kinds of obvious.
> 
> Anyway, hullo! Thank you for being here, and we are now 2/3 of the way through this story. Things are gonna get kinda rocky real soon now. Whee! Thank you for all your lovely comments, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the ride. I'll see you again on Wednesday, December 21 with the next chapter. Until then, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: There's a panic attack in this chapter, and a lot of internalized anger and self-destructive behavior. Please see the end notes if you need spoilers before reading.

It’s late when the doorbell rings. Jackson’s phone buzzes a moment later, while Danny’s running down the stairs.

_Can I come in?_

“It’s Stiles,” he calls out, just as Danny yanks the front door open.

“It’s midnight.” Mrs. Mahealani calls out. She sounds half asleep, voice muffled by the closed door to his parents’ room. “Why is Stiles here at midnight? Are we a den or something now?”

“I’ve got it, Mom. Go back to sleep,” Danny calls up the stairs. The front door closes, and two sets of footsteps slowly climb the stairs. There’s a creak in the bedroom down the hall, and Jackson assumes that Mrs. Mahealani is going back to sleep; her husband’s heart rate and breath are already slow and easy.

Jackson can smell Stiles before he sees him, can hear the ratchet-thump of his heart. Breath shudders out, exhaled with a swift sour scent of nerves. When he reaches the top of the stairs, Stiles is a bundle of nervous motion. His fingers flex and curl, tapping his thumb against each fingertip in turn. His skin is flushed around the lips, as if he’s bitten them, but pale at his cheeks.

“Can’t sleep?” Jackson asks, and Stiles stares at him.

Danny touches the spot between Stiles’s shoulder blades, and Stiles jerks forward, takes a few steps. “Yeah,” Stiles says roughly. “I just…. I don’t even know.”

“Come on.” Danny ushers Stiles into his room, closes the door as soon as they’re all inside. “You can stay here again.”

Stiles’s gaze drops to the bed, and there’s a flare of uncertainty mixed with musk in his scent. “I didn’t come here for a cuddle,” he grumbles. “I just….” Again he fails to find the words, shrugging, spreading his hands. “It just seemed like the right place to go.”

“What about Malia?” Jackson asks.

Stiles flinches. “What about Malia?”

“Look, if she’s hurting you, we’ll kick her ass, even if she is Jackson’s sister,” Danny offers.

“You smell like dried blood,” Jackson points out baldly. “Yes, you showered. Yes, it’s healing. And maybe you like it rough, but you’re here instead of there, so something has to be wrong in paradise.”

“This was a mistake.” Stiles shakes his head, pushes past Danny as he grabs for the door. “I need to go. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Stiles.” Jackson grabs his shoulders, spins him around and pushes him back against the door. Stiles’s breath exhales in a whoosh, his scent flooding the air with hunger/need/want/guilt/embarrassment. Stiles stares down at Jackson, absolutely still as Jackson’s claws prick his shirt, breath shuddering in his chest.

Blood rises to stain Stiles’s cheeks a bright red and he turns his head, looking to the side and down.

“Jackson.”

At Danny’s voice, Jackson looses his grip, forces his claws back. His eyes flash once, and he licks his lips, tries to hold on to humanity. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Stiles’s voice is low, huskier than it was before. “You’re right. I don’t mind it rough. Nothing personal.”

Jackson’s gaze flashes to meet Danny’s. “If you liked it that rough, you wouldn’t be upset every time Malia comes up.”

“Stiles.” Danny nudges Jackson back, gets a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and turns him away from the door. He manages to get him sitting on the bed, so Danny and Jackson can bracket him. Jackson lets his knee fall close to Stiles, sees the way Danny’s adding pressure from the other side.

The tension eases, but doesn’t fall away completely. Stiles locks his hands together over his knees, his head bowed and shoulders slumped.

“You want to talk about it?” Danny asks softly.

Stiles’s fingers curl, thumbs flexing, fingers moving in some pattern that Jackson can’t quite identify. Stiles huffs a sigh, shrugs his shoulders. “Malia’s the best thing I’ve got right now.”

Jackson inhales, but catches the slow shake of Danny’s head before he can speak.

“I mean. She likes me,” Stiles says slowly. “Obviously, she likes me. She knew the Nogitsune and she knows me. She’s not—I didn’t hurt her. Not specifically. She didn’t really know Allison. So it’s different. She’s just taking me as I am.”

“How do you feel about her?” Danny asks.

“I like her.” The answer comes almost too quickly, and Jackson can hear the skip of his heart the accompanies it. Stiles draws in a breath, lets it out. “We do things the way she likes to do things. She helps me.”

Lie.

“You could try doing things differently,” Danny points out. “She’s doing it because she thinks you want it to hurt. Because Lydia told her you get a fear boner, and because she thinks you get off on it.”

“Maybe I do.” Stiles lifts his head, jaw set.

“Lie.” This time Jackson calls him on it before Danny can stop him.

Stiles flinches.

Neither Jackson nor Danny say anything and the silence stretches until Stiles drops his head again. “Maybe I deserve it,” he says quietly. “Maybe I don’t deserve good things without them hurting a little. At least she’s happy about it.”

“She’s not going to be happy for long if you aren’t,” Jackson says dryly.

“What makes you think that?” Danny asks. “Why do you think you should be hurt?”

“Because I hurt people!” Stiles starts to get up, but both Jackson and Danny get their hands on his knees, keep him seated. “I hurt people,” he says again, his scent filled with guilt and loathing. “I hurt my best friend. I killed people.”

“So did I.” Jackson drops the words as strongly as he can, squeezing Stiles’s knee. “We’ve talked about this, Stiles. You weren’t _you_. You were under the control of a demon, just like I was under someone else’s control. And if I deserve someone like Danny, you sure as fuck deserve good shit too.”

Stiles’s mouth opens slightly, hangs there in a small _O_ until his tongue flicks out, touches his lower lip, and Stiles swallows hard. “Maybe all the good things are taken,” Stiles mutters. “So you know what, I’ll just go with what I’m getting. I like Malia.”

“You like sex,” Jackson counters quickly. “You like being close. You don’t like being clawed by Malia. And you don’t like her as much as she likes you.”

Stiles looks away without answering.

“That’s not fair to Malia,” Jackson tells him. “I don’t want to see you hurt, but I don’t want to see you rip her heart out, either. Don’t use her.”

“I’m not doing anything that’s not her idea.”

“Maybe you both have a different idea of why you’re doing it,” Danny suggests.

“Not really, no.” Stiles shoves their hands away, stands before they can stop him again. He pushes his hands deep in his pockets. “We talked about it, and we’re both doing exactly what we consented to. We’re not dating. We both like sex, it’s good for me, I sleep when she’s there. It’s nothing more than that. Deal with the fact that she’s not a prude, Jackson.”

Jackson snorts. “I already knew that. I just don’t think—”

“You don’t know anything about it.” Stiles twists away, heads for the door. “I shouldn’t have come over. I don’t know why I did. Sorry to bother you and your parents, Danny. I’ll let myself out, don’t worry.” He pushes through the door.

Jackson would follow, but Danny’s hand on his leg keeps him from moving. Jackson lets out a soft whine, but Danny’s fingers dig into his thigh, holding on until the front door closes and the Jeep starts up. Danny gentles his grip as the Jeep pulls out of the driveway and heads down the street.

“Following him wouldn’t have helped,” Danny tells him. “He’s not really ready to listen, even if he’s looking for something.”

“He’s looking for the wrong things,” Jackson protests. Danny laughs a little, and Jackson glares at him. “What?”

Danny curls his fingers at the nape of Jackson’s neck, draws him close to kiss him. “He’s jealous,” Danny says quietly against Jackson’s lips. “You had it easy, in his mind.”

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy at all, and he’s talked about that with Stiles. It seems so fucking _obvious_. “He won’t listen to anything,” Jackson mutters. “He doesn’t see….”

“Doesn’t see what?” Danny nudges him.

Jackson doesn’t know, so he shakes his head. “Maybe he doesn’t see himself in the mirror anymore.”

Danny stands up, strips off his shirt. “Do you think Malia’s going to climb in his window again?”

“Malia’s having some kind of a sleepover with Cora, Lydia, and Kira. I think they invited the girls from Satomi’s pack, too.” Jackson vaguely remembers the arrangements, and Liam arguing over the fact that they were including Hayden, and Brett’s sister, Lori.

“So he’s alone tonight.”

Jackson shudders. He shoves down his jeans, leaves his boxers on, but it feels too cold in the room. Every time he thinks about falling asleep alone, he starts to shiver again. “Yeah. I guess he is.”

“Maybe he needs a dog to sleep at the foot of his bed.” Danny raises one eyebrow when Jackson looks at him. “It’s a known psychological fact that pets make things better.”

“I’m not a dog,” Jackson says dryly.

Danny threads his fingers through Jackson’s hair, cradles his scalp. “I know,” he murmurs, leaning forehead to forehead. “But you’re not going to be able to sleep here, either, when you’re worried about him. So shift and go over there. You said he talks more when you’re Kula. Give him an outlet, if you want. I’ll be here.”

“I don’t fucking deserve you.” Jackson yanks Danny close, kisses him like he could steal his breath, like he could drown in his scent. Danny laughs and shoves him back, helps him finish stripping completely.

Jackson’s already shifted when Danny touches the top of his head. “You do deserve me,” Danny says quietly. “You deserve good things, and so does Stiles. Everything’s going to work out, Jackson.”

Jackson whuffs, because it’s all he can say right now. He’s not sure he believes Danny, but he trusts him, and that’s all that matters.

#

He scratches at the door when he gets to the Stilinski house, stretches up to get a paw on the doorbell. The Sheriff blinks at him, lets him inside when he whuffs and pokes a nose through the doorway. “Jackson?” he asks, and Jackson whuffs an affirmative, already heading for the stairs.

The sheriff’s scent is confused but accepting, and he climbs the stairs after Jackson. “Just go on in,” he says. “Think he might’ve finally fallen asleep. He didn’t think I heard him leave earlier, or come home. I did.” The words are low and sad, and the Sheriff lingers in the doorway as Jackson leaps onto the foot of the bed, sprawls across it.

The Sheriff rubs his hand across his eyes, shakes his head. “Watch out for Malia crawling in,” he mutters. “He thinks I don’t know about that, too. Girlfriend climbing in the window. Guy who used to be his enemy showing up to sleep on his bed like a dog. Maybe I was better off when I didn’t know anything.”

The Sheriff trudges off, pausing halfway down the hall to issue a quiet order. “Go to sleep, Jackson.”

Listening to the soft, even breath from Stiles, it doesn’t take long for Jackson to do exactly that.

Jackson wakes into darkness, not sure where he is. There’s an arm wrapped around him, and he’s naked—this isn’t new. But the terrified patter of a heart beat and the choking sound of trying not to breathe is all wrong.

Stiles.

He’s in Stiles’s bed, he’s a naked human instead of a wolf, and Stiles is awake and aware of it. He’s also hard as a rock, and so is Stiles, hips pressed close against Jackson’s ass. It’s the damned morning wood all over again.

Jackson twitches, and Stiles’s breath hisses sharply.

“It’s okay.” Jackson keeps his voice pitched low. He can hear that the Sheriff is downstairs, moving around the kitchen, so it must be morning. Still dark, too early. “It’s okay, Stiles.”

A high pitched whistle answers him.

Fuck.

Jackson twists around to face Stiles, kicking the covers off so he can move his feet. He grips Stiles’s head, meets wide, panicked eyes, and tries to match Stiles’s breath. It’s too fast, too shaky, a sharp whistle on every inhalation like there’s no room for it to get through. “Breathe with me,” Jackson says, voice still low. “Come on, Stiles. In. Out. In. Out.” Jackson tries to slow his own breath, tries to get Stiles to match him, but Stiles shakes his head.

He’s shivering, the skin around his lips slightly blue.

This panic attack didn’t just start; it’s been going on for a while and it’s not getting better.

Jackson shudders, tries to gentle his grip on Stiles’s head. He leans in close, presses his forehead against Stiles’s nose, to nose. His exhale is rough, and Stiles’s body hitches as he tastes the air from Jackson’s lungs. Good, good, that’s what he needed.

Jackson focuses on staying just like that. Connected. Breathing in, then out across Stiles’s lips, until Stiles gasps a breath in. He inhales again as Stiles slowly manages to exhale. It’s slow, too fucking slow, but the grey recedes from Stiles’s skin, color returning to his lips.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Jackson whispers. “Danny told me to come over and take care of you, and I thought I was going to kill you accidentally. Are you that scared of me, Stiles?”

Stiles shakes his head once, and the flood of _want_ nearly bowls Jackson over. Stiles exhales, and it’s all Jackson can taste: want and need, hunger and desire. Jackson leans closer, just barely touches his lips to Stiles’s and he tastes the same thing, smells his own hunger explode as he kisses him. His fingers tighten in Stiles’s hair, then go abruptly loose when Stiles shoves at him.

Jackson slides off the edge of the bed, lands on the floor with a thump. Stiles stares at him, eyes wide and heart pounding, and Jackson can still smell musk in the air. He changes position, and Stiles’s gaze drops to look at the exposed line of Jackson’s body.

Stiles rolls out of bed on the other side, one hand dropped in front of his crotch, doing nothing to hide the erection. “Go,” Stiles hisses, a hitch in his breath. “Just get out of here. Now.”

He’s gone before Jackson can reply, slamming the door to the bathroom down the hall.

“Are you boys up?” Footsteps on the stairs as the Sheriff calls up. “I’m making omelets. With fake eggs, Stiles, so don’t worry about my cholesterol.”

Jackson shifts back into Kula’s form and pads out of the room, his head hanging low. He’s trying not to listen, trying to give Stiles privacy in the shower as the water masks the sound. Instead he stops at the top of the stairs, whuffs softly.

The Sheriff raises a spatula. “If you want breakfast, you’re going to have to be human.” His gaze narrows. “Wait. What happens to your clothes when you turn into a wolf?”

Jackson is not turning back human just to answer that. Instead he heads downstairs and pushes past the Sheriff, heading straight for the door. He scratches at the doorframe, whines at it.

“Just going to sleep and leave, okay.” The Sheriff twists the deadbolt, pauses before opening the door. “Just want to say thank you. He slept quieter last night than he sleeps most nights with Malia here. Or without her. And I know he stayed with you and Danny a few times, and that’s fine too. I just want to know my son’s okay.” The Sheriff glances back at the stairs. “And whatever he said? He probably doesn’t mean it. He’s not good with mornings, but you probably know that.”

He twists the doorknob, starts to pull it open, just enough for Jackson to smell the air but not enough to get through. Jackson whines again, shoves his weight against the Sheriff’s leg. The Sheriff laughs.

“Impatient. That doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses, looks down at Jackson. “Come back any time. If you’re human, the combination for the garage door is 1572—Claudia’s birthday. Neither of us will ever forget that one. Use it when you need to. Don’t climb in the window.”

Jackson would point out that he did come to the front door, but there’s a slam of a door upstairs, and Stiles yelling out for his father. Jackson takes advantage of the distraction and wedges his nose into the small space already open and shoves. The door opens abruptly and Jackson races out.

He needs to get home. He needs to get home and talk to Danny _now_.

#

Jackson gets to the back door and it opens as he approaches, Danny ushering him in. Jackson would ask how Danny knew to watch out for him _now_ , but Stiles probably texted him.

It makes Jackson wonder what else Stiles told him.

He pads up the stairs, hears movement in Danny’s parents room as they wake up slowly. Danny shoves Jackson into his room and mostly closes the door behind them. Jackson sits down, head hanging, a low whine in his throat.

Danny’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

Apparently Stiles didn’t tell him the important part. Good. Except not.

Fuck, this is going to be hard.

Jackson falls back into humanity, his hands pressed against the floor, head down. He curls in on himself, breathes in a slow, shuddering breath before he lets himself look up. When Danny pats the bed, lifts the covers, Jackson climbs in and stretches out alongside him. Danny is solid and warm, and Jackson finds comfort in his anchor.

Danny’s hand idly drifts along the back of his neck. “What happened that’s got you this upset? Is Stiles okay?”

“I woke up human.”

Jackson waits for a response, but Danny just keeps stroking along the line of the collar, waiting. Jackson clenches one hand, opens it and tries to push his tension out the fingertips. “And Stiles was wrapped around me. We were both—”

“Hard,” Danny says, and there’s laughter in his voice. “Of course you were.”

Jackson glares at him. “Stiles was panicking. Full out panic attack, and I just got in close, breathed with him to get him through it, and it scared the shit out of me. I could see how much he couldn’t breathe, and I thought… I thought….” Jackson swallows. “I thought we were going to lose him. And I could smell how much he wanted me, and I kissed him.” His gaze drops, his head tilting to the side, baring his throat to Danny. His eyes close. “I wanted him, too. Right up until the point when he shoved me out of bed.”

“Stiles shoving you made you stop wanting him?” Danny sounds doubtful, and Jackson huffs.

“No. But he told me to leave, so I did.” Jackson holds himself still, waiting for something. Anything. Some reprimand, some indication of how this is going to all go wrong around him. “I fucked up, Danny.”

Danny turns toward Jackson, captures his hand with one of his own, lets the other fall to his neck, finger hooked in the collar. “Look at me.” He waits until Jackson does, meeting Danny’s serious brown gaze.

“I’m not going to ask if it meant anything to you,” Danny says quietly. “Because I can see that it did. All I want to know is if it means the end of us.”

“No.” Jackson doesn’t even need to think about that.

“Good. We talked about this before, but we didn’t talk about it enough,” Danny says. “Here’s the thing: you’re attracted to Stiles. Not just attracted, you give a shit about his welfare. You’re worried about him, and you’re trying to protect him. But you also want to fuck him into the mattress if he lets you.” Danny raises one eyebrow, and Jackson flushes.

“Yeah.” It’s hard to admit.

Danny’s smile quirks, one side tilting up. “So do I.”

Wait a minute.There is no fucking way he heard that right.

“ _What_?”

Danny’s thumb rubs lightly along the line of Jackson’s hand. “I’m attracted to him, too. You knew that; we talked about it before. The thing is, I think Stiles might be attracted to both of us. So the question is, what do we do about it?”

Jackson’s mouth opens, closes again. He shakes his head, and the smile falls away from Danny’s face.

“We don’t have to do anything about it,” Danny says quickly. “It’s just an idea.”

“I….” Jackson knows he should have a reaction. There should be some way to put this into words. “I’m having trouble figuring this out.”

“In a perfect world, the three of us are all interested and we all share that with each other.” Danny smells like apprehension, his fingers tight under Jackson’s collar. “But I’m not going to force that on you.”

“Yes?” It comes out as a question, and when Danny kisses him, Jackson feels more certain of it. “Yes,” he mouths against Danny’s lips as Danny nudges him back into the pillows, stretches out over him.

Jackson works a hand between them, manages to wrap his fingers around Danny’s dick, and starts slowly stroking. He wants to go down on him, to taste Danny on his tongue, but there isn’t time. All he can do is work him as quickly as he can, using the softness of his boxers to glide along his length. Jackson ruts up against his leg, thankful for the way that Danny presses him back down, holds him there as he fucks into the circle of Jackson’s fingers.

“Danny, Jackson! Are you up?”

Jackson whines, and Danny makes a choked sound, without stopping thrusting. It’s a dangerous game to keep going, when the door isn’t closed and Danny’s mother could push it open any second. Jackson listens for footsteps, knows that both parents are still in their bedroom, and he thrusts harder and feels Danny respond.

Danny comes quietly in a spill of stickiness, Jackson following a moment later. The door down the hall opens, and Danny kneels up over Jackson. His cheeks are flushed, his hair wild. Jackson drags him back down for a kiss, then rolls over in bed, shrouding himself in blankets as Danny escapes. Danny has a towel around his waist and is searching for a shirt when the door nudges open.

Mrs. Mahealani sighs. “Jackson, get up. Danny, get in the shower. You’re going to be late.”

“We’ll talk to him today,” Danny says after his mother leaves, and Jackson nods.

He has no idea exactly what he’s getting himself into, but it feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Okay, so, the panic attack is when Jackson wakes up to discover that Stiles is already awake and having a panic attack that's been going on for a little while. The self-destructive behavior is all Stiles, where his anger at himself over the Nogitsune is coming out in ways that hurt himself (and this includes his discussion of his relationship with Malia).
> 
> Okay, so, that was a pretty intense chapter. Hard to believe there are still six more to go! (Also that there are ONLY six more to go, huh?). Thank you so much for being along for the ride. Much love to all of you! *blows kisses* The next chapter will post on Sunday, December 25th. Until then, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Yep, it's only been two days, but here's another chapter. And I might be continuing this schedule through the end of the year... we shall see...

Stiles isn’t at school.

At first Jackson thinks that he’s just running late, but by third period he knows that Stiles isn’t going to show. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text: _Where are you?_

He knows there are other things he should say—that he and Stiles need to talk about—but text isn’t the way to do it.

Not that it matters, because Stiles doesn’t respond.

Jackson fires off a text before each class, and several during his classes, increasingly more irritable as the day goes on. He sits in English with Danny’s palm at the small of his back, and it does nothing to soothe the anxiety that simmers under his skin. When class is done, and they head out, Jackson stops in the hall, looking both ways and seeking any possible indication that Stiles is there.

“He just took a day off,” Danny says quietly.

“Yeah, and you know why,” Jackson shoots back. “Because of what I did. So he’s avoiding school, and avoiding me. I told you I fucked up.” It just wasn’t for the reason he originally thought. Jackson scrubs a hand across his forehead, shoves at his hair. “Fuck. I should go over there.”

“After practice,” Danny says. He nudges Jackson back against the wall, kisses him slowly. Hands slide under the bottom of Jackson’s shirt, fingers warm against his back. “How many times did you take off on me?”

Jackson huffs a sigh. “You have a point. Fine.” He feels the vibration in his pocket, and pulls his phone out, frowning at the _unknown number_ written across the screen. It stops silently ringing, but a moment later, the vibration starts up again. “I don’t know who this is, but they want to get in touch with me and don’t want to leave a message.”

The bell rings, and Danny glances up. “Want me to stick around?”

Jackson waves him off. “Go to class. I’ll catch up.” He touches the screen and raises the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He starts walking down the hall toward the door to the boiler room, and slips inside as the crowd goes by.

“Jackson. It’s Melissa McCall.” Her words are quick, almost sharp. “I’m sorry for calling during the school day, and normally I wouldn’t, but I wasn’t sure if this was something you wanted me texting my son so he could tell you to come by.”

Jackson takes the phone away from his ear, looks at the unknown number again. He lifts it, lips pressed together in a frown. “How do you have my number?”

“Stiles,” she says, like it should explain everything. “He asked me to look into certain hospital records on your behalf.”

“And Malia’s,” Jackson says.

“He did mention Malia as well, but he didn’t give me her number,” Melissa says. “The thing is, these records he asked me to look into? He’s right, there’s something strange about it.”

“Jack, Maryanne, and Jennifer Bellman, right?” Jackson pitches his voice low. It’s not as if there’s anyone nearby to overhear him, but this somehow still feels private. Personal.

“He asked me to look into Jack and Maryanne, but you’re right, there was a Jennifer with them that night. Their daughter. And she was pregnant.”

The breath punches out of Jackson and he sags against the wall. “That’s what Danny and I thought,” he whispers. “We hadn’t had the chance to tell Stiles yet. She had twins, right?”

“Right.” Melissa’s voice is low to match his. “Jack and Maryanne were DOA. Alive when they left the scene, but they both died from their injuries in the ambulance. Stiles seemed damned sure they’d be alive when they got here, so whatever else you’ve read, it was wrong. And it’s possible that’s because the hospital lied to the police.”

“Why… why the hell would the hospital lie to the police?”

“People do strange things for money, Jackson.” Melissa sifts through some papers, the sound loud to Jackson’s hearing. “Jennifer Bellman was kept alive on life support long enough to deliver her babies via cesarean section. They were live births, and at more than a month early, they were taken immediately to NICU. When Jennifer was taken off life support, she immediately failed to breathe on her own and passed away.”

Jackson thinks he should feel something about that, should have some reaction more than the relief of knowing a name and a situation. “Okay,” he says softly. “What else?”

“Well, this is where it gets complicated,” Melissa admits. “I’ve got two sets of records here: the ones that the hospital kept, and the ones that were given to the police. And they’re not the same. I’m not even sure the hospital ones are completely correct. I’m piecing this together from what seems to be missing.”

“What do you mean?” Jackson’s hand is shaking. He lets his body slide down the wall, ends up sitting with his knees bent, elbow propped on his knee so he can lean into the phone, hold it in place.

“The report that went back to the police stated that the twins died, Jackson,” Melissa says, voice quietly blunt. “If someone went to the police to look into the accident, they would have been told there were no survivors.”

“And if they went to the hospital?” Jackson closes his eyes.

“The same. The public records state that the twins died. The private records, however, tell a different story.” Her voice is thin, as if she’s smiling slightly. “Apparently the Whittemores paid a ridiculous sum of money—I think someone here was on the lookout for an adoptable child for them, and that’s not something I care to delve into right now—and they collected one baby boy on June sixteenth, the day after he was born. The adoption records were buried, but I was able to find where your birth certificate was filed with the Whittemores listed as your adoptive parents, and your birth parents listed as unknown. You were officially a John Doe when they took you, although the lawyer obviously had more information than that.”

“He did,” Jackson admits. “Not as much as you found.”

“I’m not surprised.”

There’s a silence then, and Jackson tries to absorb what he already knows. It’s not enough. “And Malia?”

“She remained in NICU, even though by all accounts, she was a healthy baby, despite her early birth,” Melissa says. “One of the nurses there took a liking to her. She was pregnant as well, and gave birth unexpectedly on July eleventh. She was discharged with her healthy baby, Malia, on the thirteenth.”

“How?” Jackson knows there has to be more to this part.

“The records aren’t clear,” Melissa tells him softly. “On July twelfth, an infant in the NICU went into cardiac arrest. On the thirteenth, Malia went home with the Tates. I think that when her baby died, she decided to just take Malia home with her, since they’d already bonded, and she wasn’t being sent to foster care.”

It explains the difference in their birthdays perfectly. Jackson lets a rough breath slip out, licks his lips.

“Are you all right, Jackson?” Melissa asks, and Jackson nods.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It fits. Everything fits perfectly, and it makes sense,” he tells her. “That was the missing link that we needed and now we’re linked.”

“I know about the other part of the story,” Melissa says. “And if Peter ever tries to harm you in any way, because he thinks he has some right as your father—”

“He won’t,” Jackson assures her. “We’re not going to let him treat us like his children. It’s just blood,” he says. “He was just a sperm donor. He didn’t even know we existed.”

“Good.” Melissa’s tone is firm, almost fond. “We’ll teach him how to be an adult, for your sake. He has his issues, but I don’t think he’s beyond saving.”

Jackson isn’t sure whether he agrees or not, so he just makes a small noise, and shrugs.

“You should get to class,” Melissa says, and now she sounds like a mother.

“Probably.” Jackson pushes to his feet and grabs his bag. He’s about to say goodbye, when something else occurs to him. “When did Stiles ask you to look into this?”

“When he brought me muffins and coffee at the start of my shift.” A soft laugh. “That boy shows up with food, and I know he wants something.”

“Did he say where he was going after that?”

Silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment. “Jackson, do I need to call the Sheriff?”

“No.” The word comes out before he thinks it through. “No, of course not. It’s just, I know he went somewhere before school, and he’s not saying. He got here late, and it couldn’t have just been stopping at the hospital. But you know what Stiles is like when he’s got a secret.” The words trip over themselves on the way out of Jackson’s mouth. He feels like he’s channeling Stiles, blurting whatever comes to mind.

But Melissa’s breath stays calm, her heart even. “Or when he’s planning a surprise,” she says, amusement in her tone. “You’re not going to know what he’s up to until he’s ready, Jackson.”

“Yeah.” He leans against the wall again, stares at the ceiling. “Yeah, I’ll find out then. Thank you, Mrs. McCall.”

“Melissa,” she corrects him. “And you’re welcome.”

The call goes dead, and Jackson shoves his phone in his pocket. He stays in the boiler room until he hears the first bell ring, hears the shuffle of footsteps overhead. He climbs out and blends in with the crowd, and tries to pretend that everything’s fine when he’s more and more certain that nothing’s fine at all.

#

“Has anyone seen Stilinski?” The locker room goes silent at Coach’s shout, and Jackson shoves his head into his locker, looking for anything at all to keep Coach from grabbing him. “You! McCall! Where’s your shadow? Doesn’t he know we’ve got practice!”

“He was out sick today, Coach.” Scott’s voice is even, but Jackson can smell the nerves, hear the skip of his heart across the lie.

“I’m sure he’ll be back when he’s done throwing up,” Isaac says dryly. “Or we could call him. Tell him you need him here and working through the heaves.”

Coach puts both hands in the air. “No, no, I’m a sympathetic puker, and if that’s what’s going on, best he’s not here. No throwing up on my team! Now get out there! I want everyone on the field in two minutes, and doing laps!”

“Did you hear from Stiles?” Jackson knocks into Scott and Isaac to get their attention, then steps back to yank on his shirt. “Because I crashed there last night and I want to know if I’m getting the stomach flu.”

“I don’t think werewolves get the stomach flu,” Scott says easily. “And no, I haven’t.”

Isaac spreads his hands. “Haven’t heard anything either, but it’s not like Stiles and I spend our days texting. Unlike some people.” There are bags under his eyes, and his skin looks pulled across his cheekbones. Isaac grabs his crosse and stalks away, and Scott sighs.

“He looks like shit,” Jackson comments.

“Yeah, and there really isn’t anything I can say that helps,” Scott says quietly. He picks up his own crosse, looks down at it. “You’re worried about Stiles.”

“Aren’t you?” It seems obvious to Jackson, and Scott winces.

“Last time he disappeared was when….” Scott doesn’t finish the sentence, but Jackson can fill it in. _When Stiles was the Nogitsune_.

“He’s not that,” Jackson says as firmly as he can. “I know he’s not. I slept there last night, and he was fine this morning.” Small lie, but Jackson’s pretty sure that aside from the issues between him and Stiles, everything else was okay. “I may have said something that pissed him off. He might just be avoiding me. Or he might be looking into a thing we were looking into.”

“Peter.”

Jackson tilts his chin, stays firm despite the glare Scott is giving him. “Peter,” he confirms. “And me and Malia.”

Scott jabs Jackson in the chest with the basket of his crosse. “If it turns out that you’ve gotten him in trouble because of that—”

Jackson grabs the basket, twists it out of his way. “Then what?”

Scott’s expression is tight, the muscle of his jaw twitching. “We’ll talk about it later. After Stiles shows up.”

“You need help with your insults, Scott,” Jackson points out. “That threat wasn’t very threatening, especially for an Alpha.”

Scott just turns around and stalks out. Jackson follows in his wake; they’re the last two on the field, and everyone watches as they approach.

“Run!” Coach yells, and Jackson drops his crosse on the side of the field and hits the track.

Kira and Scott are running side-by-side, and they somehow seem casually adorable. They’re talking as they run, and Kira’s hands move expressively as she explains something in detail, and Scott watches every move. If they weren’t both supernatural, Jackson’s positive that they’d run into someone as they go, but as it is, they are able to avoid obstacles despite their obvious distraction.

Isaac runs slowly, slower than the humans on the team. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days, and Jackson suspects it’s true. He doesn’t smell the same as Stiles—Isaac’s haunting is merely grief. Jackson can’t fault him for that, but he doesn’t have anything he can do about it, either. Isaac’s support network is distracted by a pretty new girl; that has to hurt.

Liam’s pushing himself, out in front of the team, running hard. Jackson sprints to catch up with him, then snakes a hand out and grips the back of his jersey. “Slow down,” Jackson mutters, and Liam bares his teeth and snarls at him.

“I’m the best here,” Liam growls at him, eyes flashing yellow. “Why shouldn’t I be in front?”

“Because do you really want Coach wondering why you can run like a freight train, or someone calling in the scientists to analyze your inhuman speed?” Jackson arches an eyebrow and tugs again, slowing them both down a notch. This should be Scott’s job, but if he isn’t going to do it, Jackson might as well enjoy taking Liam down a peg. “Or do you want people to realize that werewolves exist? Maybe we should start a panic, get the general population of the school up in arms about incredibly fast killers who look like humans. _Slow down_ , Liam. Keep it under control.”

“You’re just pissed off that I’m faster.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Fine, yes, I’m pissed off that you were that fucking good when you were human, but this is about staying safe, Liam. I’m not going to turn into a wolf on the field, and you aren’t going to show off. Act like you’re human. Don’t blow this for the rest of us. And don’t get yourself killed.”

Liam scoffs, “No one’s going to kill me for running too fast.”

“Hunters,” Jackson reminds him, and Liam’s steps stutter. Jackson uses the moment to yank on his shirt again, and they both slow down to human pace. “They could be here, and they could be watching,” Jackson says quietly. “Trying to figure out which of us are human, and trying to decide which of us need to be killed.”

Liam looks out, head swiveling as he looks around the field. Jackson follows his gaze, nostrils flaring as he also takes in the scent. There’s no gunpowder, no metal, no old wood. Jackson’s pretty sure that there aren’t any hunters here right now, but he has to admit, it’s fun seeing the way Liam falters as he spots Hayden leaning against the fence by Mason’s side.

A moment later, Jackson misses a step of his own when he spots Beth. He knows who she is, and it still surprises him to see her sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers, her notebook on her knee and a pencil between her teeth as she considers her homework. He hears the sound of Scott’s breath change, even from across the field, smells the sudden apprehension and sorrow.

“No,” Isaac says, and it’s sharp like a gunshot. Jackson stops in his tracks, turns to where Isaac is stalking off the field toward the building.

“Lahey!” Coach’s voice snaps out. “I want you on the sidelines, working drills with Mahealani. Over here.” He jabs his finger at the bench on the opposite side of the field from where Beth sits. Danny’s already there, a line of balls in front of him. When they finish arranging themselves, Isaac’s attention faces toward the school and away from Beth.

It’s oddly kind, and not what Jackson expected out of Coach.

Jackson looks back to Beth, and she glances up, waves and smiles at him. He lifts his hand in greeting, and hears the low rumble of Scott’s growl. Scott’s in the goal at the far end of the field, standing by Kira. There’s sorrow in the air.

“What the hell is going on?” Liam asks.

“Nothing I am going to try to explain,” Jackson replies. “Come on. We’ve got drills to do.”

It’s one of those days where the humans do better than the werewolves, in most cases. Scott’s off his game, his gaze drifting constantly to the stands. Jackson never catches Beth watching them, her head bent as she pulls out different books and works through multiple subjects worth of homework. But Scott can’t seem to keep his eyes off of her. And Kira watches Scott, her throws off-center, her scent frustrated. Isaac stays on the sidelines for much of practice, and when he comes in to work with the other goal, he goes too hard, the ball ripping through one corner of Danny’s net as Danny jumps out of the way. Jackson growls, but Isaac just glares back, eyes flashing a bright yellow.

“And you’re worried about me?” Liam asks, knocking his stick against Jackson’s shins.

Liam’s not any better than the rest, his gaze drawn to the woods, nostrils flared like he’s trying to find hunters. Jackson knows he put that in his mind, but he doesn’t care right now. Better safe than sorry. And Jackson’s no good at trying to find anything. He never catches Beth looking, but it’s as if he can feel her, and he keeps thinking of Allison. His skin itches, his hands flex, and he remembers again how he did nothing to save her.

It’s creepy as fuck.

“That’s it, bring it in!” Coach yells out, and Jackson’s thankful to finally have it be over. They all grab their water bottles, then circle up around Coach. Jackson has his crosse up, leaning against his shoulder. On the other side, Danny knocks into him, and his fingers brush Jackson’s wrist. It helps.

“You suck,” Coach says bluntly. “This was the worst practice I’ve seen since—well, worst practice I’ve seen since McCall here made the first line. Whatever’s gotten into you, get it out. Go shower, get out of here. I don’t want to see you around here again until you’ve got your head screwed on and you’re ready to play.”

“Does that mean tomorrow’s practice is canc—”

“Shower!” Coach cuts off the question before Greenberg can finish it.

Isaac whines, darting past them all to be first into the building. Scott turns his head to look at Kira, avoiding the fence on the way by. Hayden’s there along with Mason, waiting for the team to come off the field.

And Beth’s standing right next to them.

“I didn’t think the team was bad, considering,” she says. She comes up to Jackson like she’s been waiting for him, tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. It’s a familiar sensation except she’s not Lydia, and she’s not Allison, and that’s not something Danny would ever do. He stops moving, and she seems to take it as license to move closer, leaning into him. “You played well.”

Jackson looks down to where her free hand is touching his chest. “I could play better,” he says. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, nudges her hand away from him. She just smiles up at him and leans closer.

“Given everything that happened, I can’t really be surprised if you’re off your game,” Beth says softly. “I’m just glad to see that everyone’s okay and playing again. Especially your friend Danny.”

There’s a soft scent of amusement from somewhere nearby.

The funny thing is that Beth doesn’t smell like anything. Her heart is steady, her skin is flushed from the chill air, but not because her blood’s pumping harder. There’s no musk, despite the fact that she’s practically plastered to his side.

His lips press thinly together. “Yeah, I’m glad Danny’s okay, too. Considering he’s my boyfriend.”

Beth’s eyes go wide.

“Yes, that would be me.” Danny slides his arm around Jackson’s waist, places his other palm against his cheek and turns him so that he can kiss him thoroughly. And it’s a nice distraction for a moment, despite the small huff behind them.

“Oh,” Beth says softly. “I thought there might be something between you and Stiles, because of something he said,” she clarifies. “But then he said you weren’t dating, so I wasn’t sure, and I thought maybe….” She trails off with a small shrug.

Jackson inhales, expecting to smell disappointment. “No, I’m with Danny.” Their complicated, mixed up relationship with Stiles is definitely not something he wants to discuss with anyone else yet. Especially not Beth.

“He’s very overprotective of you,” Beth says, and pats Jackson’s arm. “And very concerned for your welfare.”

Jackson’s gaze narrows. “Yeah, well, we’re friends. That happens.” Danny touches the collar, and Jackson tries to let some of his tension seep away. “The point is, I’m with Danny, and I’m not interested in you hanging off my arm. You don’t need to come to the lacrosse practices to watch.”

Her brow furrows as she steps back. “I just want to support the team.” Head cocked, she digs her phone out of her pocket and glances at it. “Gran’s here, I have to go.” She raises a hand before turning and heading for the parking lot.

As Beth reaches the lot, Chris Argent pulls up, climbs out of his car. He stops and stands there, staring at her as she climbs into another car that’s waiting and it pulls out.

“Think we should talk to him?” Jackson asks, and Danny shakes his head.

“If he’s here for the pack, he’ll be here when we’re done,” Danny says. “Let’s get showered and get out of here.”

#

“Lydia hasn’t heard from him.” Jackson closes the messaging app on his phone before he shoves it in his pocket. “She and Malia are out shopping, and neither of them has heard anything all day.” He walks in the middle of the pack, Liam still simmering with suppressed energy, and Isaac quiet and hollow-eyed. Scott’s quiet, but his chin is lifted, jaw set, and he gives off a sense of strength. Kira has her fingers wound with Scott’s, and her scent is more settled than it was earlier.

Danny wraps his arm around Jackson’s shoulder, toys with the collar briefly before letting go. “He’s probably taking some time off from people. It’s not your fault, Jackson.”

“What’s not your fault?” Scott asks as they head outside. He frowns, spotting where Chris stands near Hayden and Mason. “What are you doing here?”

“Seeing ghosts,” Chris says flatly. Isaac growls softly.

“Her name’s Beth, and we all pretty much feel the same way,” Scott says. Jackson figures that Stiles must have mentioned her to Scott, or maybe Scott somehow found out on his own. “It’s disturbing.”

Chris nods, peels himself away from the wall. “Isaac. The Calaveras have found a place to stay, so it’s safe to come home.”

Isaac stops mid-step. “It’s probably not safe for you.”

“It’s fine.” Chris’s voice is flat. “The Calaveras are aware of my alliance with the local pack, and they’re aware that I’ve been fostering a werewolf since Allison’s death. That’s why they found their own place rather than stay with me. Come home, Isaac.”

“Is there any other news?” Scott asks.

“Not much, no.” Chris looks at Jackson. “They’re still looking for rogue hunters in the area, trying to figure out who’s not following the code.”

“Their code or Allison’s?” Isaac asks quietly.

“Either,” Chris clarifies. “You aren’t hunting us. There’s no reason to hunt you, as long as you stay peaceful. However.” His gaze returns to Jackson. “The Calaveras have requested to meet with four specific members of the pack due to their history. Derek. Peter. Jackson. And Stiles.”

Jackson flinches, and Danny’s arm across his shoulder tightens. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, you won’t.” Jackson’s voice is quiet. “Stay safe. I’m pretty sure they’re not inviting us over to kill us outright; they could’ve done that any time if they wanted, and they wouldn’t warn us. You don’t need to meet up with hunters.” He looks at Chris. “When do they want to do this?”

“Didn’t give me a time, but it’ll be soon. I’m going over to talk to Derek, but I haven’t been able to reach Peter or Stiles.”

“We’ll get Stiles,” Danny says. Jackson’s well-aware that Danny hasn’t agreed to stay out of the talk with the hunters, and by finding Stiles with Jackson, he’s put himself in the middle of it. When Jackson looks over, Danny’s smiling easily, his gaze fixed on Chris. “He was out today, so we’ll go talk to him.”

As they move to head away, Scott catches Jackson’s arm. He speaks quietly. “Whatever you did, if Stiles thinks it’s your fault, fix it. We don’t need you two starting to fight again when we’re working for peace in the packs.”

“I’m not fighting with Stiles,” Jackson mutters, because it’s not a lie. Stiles telling him flat out to leave isn’t a fight. On the other hand, it’s not peaceful, either. He pushes Scott’s hand off of him, glares at him for good measure. “Just let me go get him. Everything’s fine.”

He stalks after Danny, climbs into the car and pulls out of the lot before the rest of the pack mobilizes. Danny wisely doesn’t say a thing as Jackson drives to Stiles’s house, where the Sheriff’s patrol car is in the driveway, and the Jeep is nowhere to be seen.

“We go to the front door,” Danny says. He reaches across to take Jackson’s hand, squeezes slightly. “It’s fine. The Sheriff will know where he is.”

Jackson can smell Stiles in the air around the house. He can smell lingering arousal, musk, agitation. He still tastes panic from the morning, and he stands there with clenched hands while Danny rings the doorbell.

The Sheriff is out of uniform, holding a spoon that drips red sauce in one hand when he answers the door. “Jackson. Danny.” He gestures into the house. “Stiles hasn’t made it back from practice yet, but if you’re meeting up with him, you’re welcome to come in. It’s easy to make more spaghetti.”

He’s not here.

And the Sheriff doesn’t know that he should be.

Danny holds up a hand, shakes his head. “No thanks. We—” He cuts off, pulls his phone from his pocket and looks at the screen. “We got our wires crossed. We’re meeting at my place for the project, Jackson. Let’s get home.” Danny tugs, and Jackson follows him, stepping down from the landing.

The Sheriff leans out, gestures with the spoon at the garage door. “The code, Jackson. If you come back late, remember the code. Not the window.”

Jackson ducks in the car, sits there with his hands on the wheel, fingers flexing. “You lied about the message from Stiles,” he says.

“I lied,” Danny confirms. “If Stiles didn’t tell his dad where he’s going, then we’re not going to break trust yet, either. But that means we need to find Stiles, and soon.”

“He saw Melissa at the hospital before school,” Jackson says quietly as he throws the car into reverse and backs out of the driveway. “We’ll start there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two days until the next chapter! See you on Sunday, December 25th. Until then, if you're celebrating any kind of winter holiday, I hope it's a lovely time for you. If you'd like to chat at all, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	17. Chapter 17

“Text the pack,” Jackson says. His fingers are tight around the wheel, knuckles white. He doesn’t look at Danny, but he hears the slide of fingers across the screen and knows that Danny is bringing up the group chat. His own phone chimes with an incoming text, and more follow quickly after that.

“I told them that Stiles isn’t at home,” Danny says quietly. “And that we’re going to the hospital to look for him, since you know he was there.”

“Tell them to let Satomi’s pack know, just in case they see him or are willing to help look.” Jackson swallows, his jaw tight and aching. “I thought it was my fault, and maybe it is, but not like I thought. Maybe it’s not about him and me and this morning. Maybe I’m just not doing enough, and it’s all coming back.”

“Jackson.” Danny’s hand is on his thigh, squeezing lightly. It doesn’t help.

“Maybe the Nogitsune isn’t really gone,” Jackson snaps. “Maybe it’s still there, buried in his head. Maybe we haven’t protected him and it’s coming back, making him do things again. We can’t let that happen, Danny. We can’t let him lose himself.” His foot presses down on the gas pedal as he navigates through traffic, shifting into the left hand lane and zipping by people who are moving far too slow.

Danny’s fingers tighten on his thigh, digging in. “Jackson!” he snaps, and Jackson takes his foot off the gas. “Slow down,” Danny says more quietly. “Not just the car, your head. We don’t know anything yet, and panicking isn’t going to help. We’ll find him, okay? We’ll find Stiles and if there is a problem, we’ll fix it. But maybe he just needed some time on his own, so maybe he stepped away from everything else.”

“The fact that he stepped away from us isn’t exactly helping your happy threesome idea,” Jackson mutters. He winces when he hears his own words, shakes his head. “That’s not—”

“I was your best friend, and you didn’t always trust me when you were recovering,” Danny reminds him. “Give Stiles his space, and be there when he’s ready. In the end, it doesn’t matter whether he’s into us or not, right? If we care about him, we’ll support him, no matter what.”

Jackson tries to loosen his fingers on the steering wheel, navigates back to the right hand lane so he can turn off onto the road for the hospital. He nods once, because he gets it. But it doesn’t stop the anxiety from rising, the knowledge that Stiles is in pain reminding Jackson all too clearly just how bad that feels.

He turns into the lot and heads for the back; they’re healthy and able to walk, no need to take up parking spaces someone else might need.

“Look.” Danny taps his shoulder, points to a space on the far side of the back row of the lot.

The Jeep.

Jackson pulls into the first available parking space that he sees, is out of the car as soon as he has it off. He makes it to the Jeep before Danny does, hears the doors of his car being slammed in the distance as Danny closes it up. The Jeep looks as if Stiles parked it before heading inside, his bag still slung on the front seat and ready for school. The windows are slightly rolled down, as if Stiles had been enjoying the morning air. Jackson leans to press his nose to the opening on the passenger side, tastes the aroma of an overly warm chicken sandwich with pickles, cheese puffs, and melted chocolate and peanut butter. There’s a hint of egg sandwich with sausage remaining, as if the scent was trapped in the car but is gone now. Jackson’s nostrils flare and he tries to taste Stiles on the air, but the scent is too faint.

He tugs his shirt free from where it’s tucked into his jeans and yanks it over his head.

“Jackson, slow down.” Danny’s hands are on his shoulders, crowding him back against the Jeep. The metal is still warm from the sun, just starting to cool down now that it’s later in the day. Danny leans into him with all his weight, touches the collar, and Jackson goes limp, turns his head to one side. He whines softly, and Danny presses a kiss to his jaw, turns his head so he can kiss his lips.

“I can track him if I’m the wolf,” Jackson says softly, and Danny nods.

“I figured that’s where you were going with it, but you should at least try to be subtle.” Danny looks around, tugs Jackson into a space between a minivan and a pickup truck. He takes the shirt from Jackson’s hands, then motions at him. “Go ahead. Strip.”

“I can think of so many better times for you to be saying that.” Jackson undoes his fly, toes off his sneakers before pushing down his jeans and underwear. He hands it all to Danny along with his socks, then goes to his knees and lets the change wash over him. He leaves Danny behind, still folding the clothes, as he pads away to head back to the Jeep.

Stiles’s scent is stronger this way, anxiety making the air sour. Jackson sneezes and waits for Danny before he pads off, nose to the ground, following Stiles’s footsteps. He went across the back of the parking lot, and Jackson can see the differences in which spots were filled earlier by the places where Stiles went around the cars. When he reaches a place where the scent ends, at first he thinks that he’s missed a turn again. He goes to the aisle at the back of the spot, then paces around it, trying to pick up something. Anything.

All he finds is a drip of oil on the ground that’s damp enough to be relatively fresh, but he has no idea if the car it came from was there that morning or just an hour ago. He sits back on his haunches and whines.

Danny crouches down next to him, tangles his hand in Jackson’s ruff, fitting fingers under the collar. “Lost the scent?” When Jackson nods, Danny frowns. “Sounds like he got into someone else’s car. Why would he do that? The Jeep’s fine, and his bag is still there, so he wasn’t hitching a ride to school with someone. Maybe it was something unexpected. The car doesn’t smell distinct, does it? Do you smell anyone else?”

Jackson shakes his head. Everything else is muddled, the heavy scent of oil and something vaguely skunky covering any more detailed scents of people. It’s the Emergency Room entrance, so there’s probably been a lot of traffic in the lot all day. As if to emphasize the thought, a car rolls by them, turns toward the hospital to seek a closer space.

“Come on.” Danny straightens up, starts walking back to their car. “If he’s not here, then we need to figure out where he went next, and all we’ve got to go on is that he got into someone else’s car. Which isn’t much, but we know it means we need to leave here.”

Jackson follows him back to the car, waiting until he can find a safe place to transform back to human. While Jackson’s getting dressed, his phone starts chiming with a series of incoming texts. Danny has his phone out and is scrolling through, frowning. When Jackson pauses, shirt in his hands, jeans still unbuttoned, Danny looks over at him. “You’re not going to like it.”

Jackson growls low in his throat. “Oh?”

“Scott’s been talking to Satomi, and she wants to you, Derek, Peter, and Stiles to get there right now, because the Calaveras are there.” Danny sides into the passenger seat and yanks the door shut.

“Well, that’s going to be a bit difficult until we find Stiles,” Jackson snarks. “Tell Scott we’ll be there when we get there.”

Danny’s fingers are flying across the virtual keyboard. “I did. And he said no, get there now. Satomi said that if Stiles isn’t available, they’ll deal with it later. She’s well-aware of what happened with the nogitsune and can fill some of those details, but she isn’t as familiar with the kanima, or Peter and Derek’s history.”

“Why is this happening _now_?” Jackson yanks on his t-shirt and gets in the car, starting it up before he buckles in. “Why do we have to meet _right now_?”

“Because the hunters said so.” Danny sets the phone down on his lap. “Jackson, you heard what Cora said about the Calaveras. Right now they aren’t against us. They may not be on our side, but they’re not against us. And we need to keep that. Which means we meet with them when they say to meet, and we work on making sure that the pack as a whole stays safe.”

“And Stiles?” Jackson points out, because Stiles is still out there, somewhere, refusing to talk to anyone.

“We’ll get back to looking for Stiles after the meeting.” Danny holds out his hand, palm up, and after a moment Jackson lays his own on top. Danny’s fingers curl around him, holding on. “We don’t have a solid lead right now, other than the car, and there isn’t a scent trail going cold. We’re back to square one. And if giving an hour to the Calaveras family helps make us safer while we look for him, I think it’s worth it.”

“Fine.” Jackson doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t look like he has a choice either. “Where are they?”

“Derek’s loft.”

Jackson puts the car in drive and goes.

#

“And here’s the prodigal—”

“Don’t finish that,” Jackson interrupts Peter before he turns his back on the crowd in the loft and slides the door shut. “We all know I don’t want to be here right now, and you attempting to be charmingly friendly isn’t going to help.” He heads for the couch, stopping when Danny winds his arms around him from the back and anchors him standing in place. Good. Fine. He doesn’t want to share the couch with Peter and Derek. He doesn’t want to have this strange woman looking down on him, staring at him.

She’s older, like a grandmother, but her gaze is sharp, her expression intent. She’s not soft, and her smile is uninviting. “This is Jackson,” she says, her accent light but evident.

“This is Jackson.” Cora stands near the stranger. Her body language seems easy, but Jackson can smell her tension. “And his boyfriend, Danny. We’ve got everyone that you requested that we can get at the moment. Jackson, this is Araya Calaveras.”

Everyone seems to be Peter, Derek, and Jackson. Satomi is there, as is Scott, and Cora sticks by Araya, while Chris stands nearby. Jackson tilts his head, chin raised, and stares back at Araya as frankly as she stares at him.

“Oh, I can tell that this is going to be fun.” Peter smirks. “So tell me, where shall we begin?”

“Where is Stiles Stilinski?” Araya’s words fall like gunshots, and Jackson flinches.

“He skipped school today,” Scott says easily. “He’s looking into something and decided to follow a lead instead of showing up for class.”

Lie. Scott’s heart isn’t just skipping, it’s thundering, and his scent is rank with worry. Scott glances at Jackson, and Jackson refuses to let his own fear show in his expression. He keeps his jaw tight and set as he leans back against Danny.

Araya’s smile thins. “And yet, you told him to be here, and he is not here. Do you know where he is, Alpha McCall?”

Jackson braces, flinches as Scott admits, “No.”

That thin smile grows, sharp and pointed. “And does he often disappear? From what I understand, when he was possessed, he disappeared often. He then resurfaced, as tricksters do, amidst death and chaos.”

“He has PTSD.” Jackon’s voice is flat. “He’s not possessed anymore, he has fucking PTSD, which is pretty damned normal after what he’s been through. And yeah, when Stiles is researching something, he’ll do whatever he has to do, even if it means taking off without talking to the rest of us.”

“And what, exactly, is he researching?” Araya asks, her gaze pinned on Jackson.

She’s waiting for him to fuck up, and he knows it. Danny’s hand slides up his back, rests at the nape of his neck where no one else can see it, silently giving him strength. Jackson forces a smile, does his best to relax and be just as charming as he can be. “Something for me. Something personal, actually. He’s looking into my birth parents.” It’s true. And it’s enough to make Peter raise one eyebrow, and Araya’s gaze narrow.

Jackson spreads his hands. “I’m adopted, and Stiles offered to help me figure out who my birth parents were. It gives him something to do so he’s not sitting around, thinking about all the shit that some fucking demon made him do. And you know what? I get that. I get what it’s like to be possessed and used against your will.”

There’s a low groan from Derek, and Scott face palms.

Araya steps forward, closing in on him. She’s small, but she has presence. “Tell me about the kanima, Jackson,” she orders.

“I was under someone else’s control,” Jackson says flatly. “If I’d been myself, I sure as hell wouldn’t have paralyzed my best friend. I’m not a killer, and neither is Stiles. If you want to find monsters, go find the demons that used us.”

Araya takes one step back, refocuses her attention on the couch. “And what about the Hales? Biting teenagers? Killing your own niece?”

“Derek’s not the only one who bit teenagers,” Scott says. “And he saved every one of them when he bit them. He took them away from the life they had.”

“He created the kanima,” Araya points out. “You did bite Jackson, correct?”

Derek nods. “That didn’t create the kanima,” he says carefully. “Jackson was rejecting the bite. He was going to die, and something saved him from that. Besides, he’s a wolf now.”

Jackson gets the feeling there are things he will never understand about his own physiology, including why he wasn’t a wolf to start with. And why he didn’t change later, like Malia did with the coyote. But that’s not a topic for when a hunter is glaring at them, waiting for answers that he doesn’t have to give.

“What do you mean that he wasn’t the only one to bite teenagers?” Araya asks.

“Scott saved the life of a friend.” Satomi speaks up. “I will vouch for him on this, and the Argents are aware.” As if there are more Argents than just Chris, who stands watching over them. “If Scott had not given Liam the bite, he would be dead now.”

Araya’s gaze narrows, and she huffs, clearly still thinking about it. “I have heard no defense for Peter Hale,” she muses.

“Peter doesn’t have one,” Jackson says dryly. Danny kicks him in the shin.

“I was out of my mind when I regained consciousness, years after the fire,” Peter says. His heart doesn’t skip, his scent never changes. “I was mad with the need to heal, and I took Laura’s life without even realizing it was her. The influx of alpha energy pushed me further over the edge. They were right to kill me.”

“And yet you came back.”

He shrugs. “I did. We have a banshee. It helps.”

Araya purses her lips, her fingers brushing something that sits at her hip. A knife, Jackson suspects, or a gun. “And since your return?”

Peter spreads his hands. “I’ve been nothing but helpful.” He seems innocent, his smile charming and bland. Jackson still doesn’t trust him.

“You have all harmed innocent lives,” Araya says darkly. “It would be well within the code to take your lives.” Jackson’s glad that no one’s made her aware of Malia, and her blue eyes as well.

“We follow a new code in Beacon Hills.” Chris speaks firmly. “We protect those who cannot protect themselves. You know as well as I do, Araya, that not all who are predators are monsters. No one here is preying on the innocent. In fact, everything was peaceful before hunters came to town and came after the Wendigo. The packs of Beacon Hills protect the people of Beacon Hills.”

“Even the Wendigo family was at peace with those around them,” Satomi says. “Feeding only on flesh from bodies which were already dead.”

Araya’s lips thin, her scent thick with trepidation. “That is your code, Argent.”

“And it serves us well,” Chris says. “It’s the code for Beacon Hills, because this place needs its protectors. We have a Nemeton, and it calls things out of nightmares. We make sure no one gets hurt.”

It makes them sound good, anyway, as if they weren’t a fractured mess of multiple packs and teenagers with PTSD. Jackson’s impressed at how easy Chris makes it sound.

“We will investigate.” Araya steps back, looks to Cora. “On the basis of our alliance, and on the strength of Alpha Ito’s testimony, we will investigate, and we will determine whether the packs of Beacon Hills are behaving in the best interest of those around them.”

She heads for the door, and Peter calls out, “A pleasure to see you, as always.”

“Peter.” Derek’s voice is low, and Peter falls silent. Araya leaves, and the door clangs shut behind her. Jackson hears more footsteps in the hall, wonders how many were hiding out there and he didn’t even notice them.

They all wait in silence, until Satomi and Scott relax.

“Pretty sure they’re all gone,” Scott says. His stances changes to be more solidly placed, his arms crossed. “Where’s Stiles, Jackson?”

“We have no idea,” Danny answers. “We were looking for him when you said we had to get here right now.”

“And why does Scott think you’ll know where he is?” Peter asks idly. “The intertwined relationships are fascinating.”

“I crashed at his place because he needed a dog.” Jackson’s tone is flat, daring them to say anything. “After I left, he went to talk to Melissa—I talked to her later. We went to the hospital, and the Jeep’s still in the parking lot. It smelled like he left in someone else’s car.”

“What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Jackson may have spent the day worrying that it’s all his fault, but when he hears the accusation in Scott’s voice he refuses to let it get to him. “I didn’t do anything, Scott. We’re getting along, remember? I was over there to help him last night, so he could sleep.”

“He’s got Malia for that,” Scott spits out, and Jackson sees red.

“Don’t imply that Stiles is using my sister for sex so he can sleep,” Jackson snarls, eyes flashing bright blue. “And don’t even think about twisting that around for me. I was a wolf, so he’d have company. And he _slept_.”

“Then what’s got him so upset?” Scott yells. “Why did he take off?”

“Do you know what it’s like having nightmares?” Jackson growls. He pulls, and Danny pulls back, keeps hold on him to anchor him in his humanity. “Do you know what it’s like remembering every little thing you’ve done, like sticking a sword in your best friend’s gut?”

“Stop it.” Derek gets between them, puts his hands out to make space. “This isn’t helping anything here, and it’s not helping Stiles. If it’s not something any of us have done, what set him off?”

“Beth.” Because just like that, it’s obvious. At Scott’s confused look, Jackson gestures at Chris. “Beth Jaeger. The girl who looks like Allison. Stiles gave her a ride home yesterday.”

It’s as if a wall slams down around Chris, trepidation and anger thick in his scent. “I need to go,” he says roughly. “Satomi, Scott, I’ll be in touch. I’ll let you know if I hear more from the Calaveras.”

Derek’s expression is understanding. “Of course, go. And thank you for your help.”

“Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-même.” Chris spits the words swiftly, a hint of regret in his scent, and then he yanks open the sliding door and leaves.

Scott smells like a kicked puppy, a sorrowful stench thick around him. “Yeah. I could see that seeing Beth would send him into a tailspin,” he says quietly, and while Jackson assumes he means Stiles, it could just as easily be applied to Chris’s quick exit.

“Stiles is not the nogitsune,” Satomi tells them. “He is boy who is dealing with his grief, and he is a smart child. He will be found when he wishes to be found, and in the meantime, we shall all watch out for him.”

“In other words, go home,” Derek clarifies. “Go home, get some sleep, and keep an eye out for messages from Stiles. If anyone hears from him, let everyone else know. I’ve got a couple places I’ll look for him, and I’ll let you know if I find him.”

That isn’t what Jackson wants to hear. When he looks at Scott, he’s standing with his head hanging. Cora has her arms crossed, and she’s looking at her brother like she’s waiting for instructions. Jackson tries to catch her attention, mouths _text me_ , but he’s not sure she sees him.

“Come on,” Danny murmurs, leaning down, mouth close to Jackson’s ear. “I think we’ve done everything we can tonight. Let’s go home.”

Danny’s hand rests at the nape of Jackson’s neck as they walk to the elevator, and he keeps it there the entire time that they ride downstairs with Scott and Satomi. When they reach the car, Danny holds out his hand. “I’ll drive,” he says, and Jackson doesn’t argue, placing his keys in Danny’s palm.

He’s exhausted. He climbs into the passenger seat and leans it back, pulling out his phone to thumb through the messages. Jackson doesn’t even want to count the number of texts he sent to Stiles today. Too many. He looks like a desperate tween with a first crush.

 _I’m okay_.

The text pops up just as Jackson exits the messaging app. He goes back in, and it’s sitting there, two quiet words in response to an entire string of _where are you_ messages. And it doesn’t answer the question, so Jackson sends it again: _where are you?_

“Is it Stiles?” Danny asks quietly, and Jackson just nods, staring at his phone and waiting for it to chime again.

 _There’s something I need to do. I owe it to Allison. I’m okay_.

“He’s doing something for Allison,” Jackson says slowly. “That doesn’t necessarily make me feel better.”

“Do you really think he wants us interfering?” Danny asks, and Jackson shakes his head.

 _If you need us, you know where to find us. Just show up, or call. Don’t be an idiot_. Jackson types the words out with too much force on the screen. He stops after the message sends, tries to control his breathing.

Only two words come back: _I’m okay_.

Jackson swallows hard, waits just in case there’s more.

There isn’t more.

Jackson locks the phone, shoves it in his pocket. He leans back and closes his eyes. “He’s okay,” he says, because that’s all Stiles will give him, and he has to try to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Whatever you celebrate, I hope you are having a lovely end of year. In order to celebrate the end of 2016, I will be finishing posting this before year end, woohoo! I will post today, on the 27th, and then three days in a row on the 29th, 30th, and 31st so that the final chapter posts on New Year's Eve. I hope everyone enjoys the ride.
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments, and for being here for all these words. <3 So much love to all of you. I'll be back on the 27th with the next chapter, and in the meantime, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Warning for Stiles being self-sacrificing. See end notes for details. Be assured that everything turns out just fine and this story has a happy ending.

Sleep eludes Jackson. He lies there, as still as he can manage, curled on his side with Danny pressed up against him. He feels the even rise and fall of Danny’s chest, the soft whistle of his breath. Danny’s skin is warm against Jackson’s bare back, his palm solid against Jackson’s ribs.

He doesn’t want to disturb him, so he tries not to move, even when his skin itches with the need to do something. He closes his eyes, and he tries to drift into the distance, but he can’t find sleep.

There’s a low huff of breath, and Danny’s breathing changes. A slower inhale, a rush on the exhale.

“You awake?” Jackson murmurs into the darkness, and Danny’s hand tightens against his skin. Jackson pulls away just enough to roll over, and Danny reaches for his face, cradles his cheek and leans in for a kiss.

It’s slow and easy. Lazy. Comfortable. It’s a distraction, and maybe that’s what Jackson needs right now. A distraction and a quickie orgasm, something to leave his body loose and lax and able to sleep.

He murmurs against Danny’s mouth, tugs until Danny stretches over him, never breaking the kiss. Danny fits them hip to hip, ruts against him gently as Jackson bends one knee, hooks it behind Danny’s leg to anchor him in place. Jackson shifts his hips, and Danny responds by pressing down more, letting his weight hold Jackson in place, until Jackson whines in response. Jackson gets his hands on Danny’s back, slides his fingers under the edge of Danny’s sleep pants, and digs his fingers in.

And the kissing just goes on, long and slow, echoed in the lazy motion of their hips.

“Jackson.” Danny pulls back, one hand still flat against Jackson’s cheek.

“Mm?” He’s not ready to stop. Jackson knows he won’t be able to sleep, not yet. He tries to pull Danny closer again, but Danny shakes his head.

“This isn’t what you’re looking for.” Danny rolls off, ends up next to Jackson and on his back, arms behind his head. “And as much as I love a lazy makeout session, it’s not really what I’m looking for either.”

“What are you worried about? We get off, we sleep,” Jackson grumbles. “Why’d you stop?”

“Why don’t you ask your dick that question?” Danny points out, bringing one hand down to palm Jackson through his underwear.

Jackson’s eyes close, hips lifting. The touch feels nice, except… Danny has a point, because Jackson’s soft. Maybe half-hard at most.

“I was really hoping a good orgasm would help.” Jackson rolls over, leaving his back to Danny as he curls in on himself. “Apparently I can’t even find that.”

“You’re not the only one lying here awake, worrying,” Danny reminds him. He fits himself to Jackson’s back, curls around him warmly and holds on. Jackson closes his eyes and drinks in the scent of Danny, the way their scents mix in the bed. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about his last texts,” Jackson murmurs, his eyes still closed. “The way he kept saying _I’m okay_ like he was trying to convince us.”

“Or like he was trying to convince himself.”

That hadn’t occurred to Jackson, but now that Danny says it, it seems all too reasonable. He shudders. “I don’t like the idea that he feels like he owes Allison something,” Jackson grumbles. “Because I don’t like the idea of anything he could be doing to make it up to her.”

Danny digs a finger in, just under Jackson’s rib, poking him. “Grab your phone. Tell him to get his ass over here so we can stop worrying.”

Jackson sits on the edge of the bed, Danny draped across his back. He cradles the phone for a long moment, trying to remind his tired thumbs how to work, then he taps out the message Danny suggested, word for word. He presses send and stares at the phone, like Stiles will respond instantly.

He doesn’t.

One minute stretches into five, and Jackson wavers as he sits there. His mind is becoming sharper as he waits and there’s no response, waking up with every second ticking by.

“He’s not going to say anything,” Jackson says quietly, and Danny presses a kiss to his back, right between the shoulder blades.

“Sounds like we’re going out to find him,” Danny replies, and the twist around Jackson’s heart eases. He turns and kisses Danny, long and slow.

“Thank you.”

“We’re not being idiots about this.” Danny throws a pair of sweats into a sling bag, and throws it over his shoulder. “You’re going as Kula; we need your nose. But before you change, text Malia and Cora, because we aren’t doing this alone. We’ll pick them both up, and between the four of us we’ll find him.”

It feels good to fall into his fur, to inhale and taste the lingering scent of Stiles in the air of Danny’s room. Jackson whuffs softly, pads down the stairs in Danny’s wake. Everything’s going to be fine. They’ll find Stiles.

#

Malia climbs into the back of Danny’s car, picks up the sling bag on the seat and presses her nose against it. “These are Danny’s clothes,” she says, then leans back and crosses her arm.

“We’re going to get Cora, too,” Danny says. He reaches across, touches Jackson’s fur before he withdraws so he can drive.

Jackson settles on the seat, tail flicking as Malia pokes it with her finger. He growls, and she laughs.

“Please don’t tease Jackson,” Danny says dryly.

“I miss being the coyote,” Malia says, her tone wistful. Jackson can smell the longing, sweet and tart. “I don’t think I want to be the coyote all the time anymore. I like our packs. And I like our cousins. But I miss being able to run, and sleep with my tail over my nose, and I miss hunting deer.”

Jackson whuffs softly, and Malia reaches through on the other side to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Think you can sniff out Stiles?” Danny asks. He maneuvers through the dark streets of Beacon Hills. Traffic’s almost nothing at this hour, although as they head into the warehouse district, Jackson still smells too much exhaust. He whuffs an answer to Danny’s question.

“Of course,” Malia says. “I know what he smells like. I’ve spent a lot of time smelling him.” Jackson growls under his breath and Malia makes a small noise of irritation. “He wanted to be smelled, Jackson. We had fun.”

“Almost there.” Danny turns onto Derek’s street. “Malia, pass Jackson the sweats. We’ll go up to get Cora and—” He stops as he pulls into the parking space, and Cora and Derek are standing outside the building.

Cora bounces over, yanks open the back door. “Slide over, Malia. Give me space.”

“Does Jackson need to get dressed?” Malia asks, as Jackson shifts back to human and untangles himself in the front seat.

“No,” Jackson mutters, rolling his window down as Derek taps against it. “What?” Derek raises both eyebrows, and Jackson responds by rolling his eyes. “No, I’m not getting dressed unless I’m getting out of this car. Deal with it.”

“Derek doesn’t actually care; he’s just giving you a hard time,” Cora says. “And he still hasn’t managed to find his wolf, so he’s probably jealous.”

Derek puts his hands on the car, fingers curled through the open window, over the edge of the door. “Be careful,” he says quietly. “It’s possible that Stiles is under the influence of the demon again.”

“He doesn’t smell like it,” Malia says, and Jackson just looks at her, because he should have thought of that himself. She shrugs. “He smells like sex, and exhaustion, and frustration, and pain. He smells like anger and irritation. But he doesn’t smell like the nogitsune, and remember, I met that first.”

“She has a point.” Now that Jackson thinks about it, he has to agree, and it’s a relief. Danny touches the back of his neck, and Jackson leans into the light press of fingers. “Whatever’s going on, there’s a good chance Stiles is doing something he shouldn’t be doing. Especially since he mentioned Allison.”

Derek’s gaze drops for a moment, long enough for him to exhale. By the time he inhales, he’s looking at them again, fixing his gaze on them with narrowed eyes and jaw set. “Fine. If Stiles is being stupid, go save him from himself. But don’t you be stupid, too. There are four of you, and remember that Danny’s human. Jackson—not everyone’s a wolf. Don’t go running off on each other, don’t jump into anything. Think before you act.”

Jackson melts back into his fur and licks Derek’s fingers. He lets his tongue hang out like a dog when Derek scowls and pulls back. Malia giggles. The window slides up and Danny pulls out.

“Like Derek ever thinks before jumping into trouble,” Cora says. “I think that’s our pack motto: leap first, think later. Or maybe it’s leap first, regret later.”

“You say pack like there’s just one now,” Danny comments.

“Aren’t we?” Malia asks. “Even Peter. We don’t want him, but he’s there anyway, because he’s our father, and he’s Derek and Cora’s uncle. And if we have him in the pack, we can keep an eye on him.”

“I think it’s our pack and Satomi’s pack,” Cora says. “But we all pretty much seem to be pulling together lately, right?”

Jackson whuffs agreement, because it’s true. At least the hunters have done that for them, turned them into something approaching a single pack. Awkward family dynamics and all.

#

The Jeep is in the driveway at the Stilinski house. Danny parks a few houses away, and Jackson turns back to human and yanks on his sweats. He picks up his phone. Nothing.

“Anything?” Jackson asks, and they all shake their heads. “Fine. Then he’s ignoring us. Malia and I will go, you two wait here.”

They walk over quietly, sniff around the Jeep. It smells like Stiles, fresh in the air and thick with anxiety. Sorrow, too, and worry. Jackson glances at Malia, and she points to the tree by the side of the house. While Jackson could use the code to the garage door, he has a feeling she’s right. This isn’t something they want to involve the Sheriff in.

They both climb up and tug the window open, spilling into Stiles’s room. And while it smells like him, he’s not there, and Jackson realizes there’s only one heartbeat in the house. “He’s not here,” he whispers, while Malia goes around the room, picking this up to sniff at them, then putting them down.

“He got changed.” She picks up a pile of discarded clothes, drops it on the bed. “He used his laptop. And he left.”

“About an hour ago, actually.” The door nudges open and the Sheriff stands there, arms crossed. “Haven’t I told you that we have a front door?”

Malia blinks at him, Stiles’s shirt in her hands again.

The Sheriff sighs. “Look, whichever one of you is actually dating my son—and I don’t care which it is, that’s not a problem—you need to learn to use the front door. Just knock, or ring the doorbell. I’ll answer, you’ll come in, and you’ll avoid doing anything I don’t want to know about while you’re under my roof. Sneaking in isn’t the answer. If I’m home, I know you’re here. If I’m not home, I’ll find out. Trust me.”

Malia lifts the shirt to her nose, inhales deeply, then tosses it to Jackson. “Do you know where he went?”

“If I knew where he went, I’d be dragging his ass back here,” the Sheriff says dryly. His attention is locked on Jackson, as Jackson does the same thing with the shirt, inhaling Stiles’s scent to fix it in his mind. “Does this mean the two of you intend to play bloodhound and get my son back here?”

“Yes.” Jackson tosses the shirt aside, rolls the taste of Stiles’s scent on his tongue. There’s no hint of the nogitsune, just high levels of agitation and nerves. It’s like he’s wrestling with himself, talking himself into something. And that doesn’t make Jackson feel good. “Although we might take him home, instead.”

The Sheriff sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to argue that. Just… tell him I want him to call me in the morning. And you text me and let me know where he is, and that he’s safe.”

Malia gets her phone out and hands it to the Sheriff, waits for him to put his number in before she takes it back and shoves it into her pocket.

“I’d actually wondered if he was with one of you,” the Sheriff admits. “I figured he’d come back, maybe scratched up again, maybe he’d sleep at Danny’s. But he’s been better about telling me. You guys being here, though….”

“We’re worried too,” Jackson admits. “And if he left an hour ago, we need to get out of here and go after him. He didn’t take the Jeep.”

“He walked.” The Sheriff shakes his head. “He thought I didn’t know he was sneaking out, and I saw him walking down the street.” He points and Jackson makes note of the direction. The Sheriff pulls back from the door, motions at the hallway. “Let’s go downstairs and out the front door. Maybe if I keep making you leave that way you’ll eventually get the point.”

#

Back at the car, Jackson strips off his sweats and shoves them in the bag for Danny. Malia catches them up on what the Sheriff said, and Jackson lets the wolf take over. He looks up and whuffs, nose in the air as he seeks Stiles’s scent.

“If he went that way, he might be heading for the Preserve,” Cora points out.

“Unless he changes his mind anywhere along the way.” Danny tosses the bag on the passenger seat. “You guys run, I’ll follow in the car. If you have to cut through someone’s property, one of you stay on the streets so I don’t lose you. Go as fast as you need to, just let me keep you in sight.”

Jackson nods, whuffs loudly once, then lopes off. There’s a low growl as the girls transform behind him, and then thud of their feet as they race by his side.

Stiles’s scent is bright in the air, easy to track. Jackson’s pretty sure that Cora’s right and Stiles is heading for the Preserve. It’s a fairly direct route, and he knows that they’re moving faster than Stiles would have on foot, so hopefully they won’t be too far behind.

“Why did the Sheriff say he didn’t know which one of us Stiles is dating?” Malia asks, her footsteps solid and rhythmic as she paces Jackson. “Are you having sex with him?”

Jackson growls, because that’s not a conversation he wants to have.

“Not the time, Malia. Besides, I think Jackson’s just sleeping with him. No sex. Remember how they took Stiles home?” Cora points out. “This way.” She points, and they turn. Jackson takes advantage of the shift in direction to push out ahead of the girls, ignoring their conversation.

He’s running harder now, pushing himself to his limits. He’s aware of the girls falling behind, and the car nearby, but he can’t wait for them. It’s his fault that Stiles ran off—he pushed him that morning. Jackson needs to make up for it.

When he hears voices, he almost stops, but he doesn’t want to lose momentum.

“You’re doing the right thing.”

Beth’s voice, soft and calm. Stiles making a noise of agreement.

“You’re right.” Stiles sounds tired. Exhausted. “You’re right. The nogitsune took me over. I did those things. All those things. I killed Allison, and you should—I should….” He trails off, a low hiccup interrupting his words. “I’ll take my punishment.”

Jackson smells gunpowder, hears a soft click, and he leaps through the trees. He skids between Stiles and Beth, dimly registers that there are at least seven other people there. He stands, tail fluffed and legs splayed, head down as he bares his teeth and growls loudly.

There’s a shot, and Jackson twists and throws himself at Stiles, knocking him to the ground. He licks Stiles’s cheek to try to say _stay down_ as he hears the squeal of brakes nearby, and the growls of his packmates. Malia’s on one of the men, and Cora’s snarling, and he hears Danny shouting, out of breath as he yells, “Stop! Just stop!”

There’s another shot, and Jackson’s heart skips a beat. He puts a foot in the center of Stiles’s chest and pushes, meets his eyes and waits for a nod. Then Jackson whirls away and bounds to Danny’s side. Fingers catch his collar, and Danny yells, “We are not the enemy!”

Another shot, and a blood-curdling scream from something unseen. And there are more people. Araya Calaveras, others. Jackson smells metal and smoke and he whines because they need to stop.

“Don’t hurt anyone!” Danny yells. “Cora, Malia, don’t hurt them. We’re not monsters.”

Malia backhands someone, puts him down on the ground and growls at him. “I’d love to take a bite, but we’re not monsters. Stop shooting at us.”

The ground shakes and something roars.

The world goes absolutely still.

Jackson can hear his own heartbeat, deafening in his ears and echoed by too many hearts around him. All beating too fast, too hard, thumping loudly.

The ground shakes again.

Someone yells, “What is that?”

“Run!” Araya yells. “Stop fighting, and run!”

Cora grabs Stiles, and Malia takes Danny’s hand. Jackson runs behind them, keeping pace this time as they race back to Danny’s car. There’s another roar in the distance, and a scream, but Jackson doesn’t have time to look. He needs to protect his pack.

Cora yanks open the car and shoves Stiles into the back seat, climbing in after him. Malia takes the front while Jackson burrows into the back on top of Stiles and Cora, draped across them. They barely get the doors closed and Danny hits the gas, the car leaping forward.

Jackson can see out the back as something rises above the trees. Something big and shadowy against the darkness, something he can’t identify.

It roars again, and all he can think is _it’s hungry_. And he’s thankful that they got away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER NOTES: As some folks suspected, Stiles did indeed hand himself off to Beth in atonement for Allison. But everything turns out okay and of course, Jackson and the others arrive on time. Of course, things go haywire in a whole new direction, but y'know, it's Beacon Hills.
> 
> Hullo, and hope you're doing well as 2016 comes to a close. We're almost there! After this, the last three chapters will post on December 29/30/31, so you can ring in the new year with a (hopefully) satisfying ending. Thank you all so much for the incredible comments, and for coming along for the ride. If you want to find me, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.

They end up back at the Mahealani house. Cora texts Derek to let them know they’re okay, and Derek’s already there when they arrive, leaning against his Toyota. He has his arms crossed, and just raises one eyebrow when they spill out of the car.

Stiles smells like apprehension, his heart kicking hard when Jackson shifts back into human form and drags on his sweats.

“Get in the car.” Derek yanks open the back door. “Malia, Stiles, I’ll drop you both off at home.”

“He’s staying,” Jackson says.

Both eyebrows up, Derek just looks at him. “Maybe that’s his decision.”

Jackson puts one hand out to catch where Stiles is wavering on his feet. “Stiles?”

Stiles licks his lips, looks from Danny to Jackson. “Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m staying. I’ll just… I’ll text my dad.”

“He knew it might be an option.”

Malia leans in to hug Stiles. She whispers something against his ear that leaves Stiles’s cheeks bright red and Jackson wondering if he should have tried to eavesdrop.

“Let’s see if we can sneak in without waking my parents up,” Danny says quietly. “Between multiple cars, and the door earlier, they may have heard something.”

It’s too late to be lucky; when they open the back door, Mrs. Mahealani is sitting in the kitchen, reading something on her phone. It chimes, and she reads the message before looking up, smiling slightly. “Glad to see you’re dressed, Jackson.”

“Hi, Mrs. Mahealani.” Stiles’s voice slurs slightly, and Jackson wonders if he had anything to drink before he went out. If he’d tried to charge his courage up, or if this is just exhaustion and coming down from whatever happened.

“Hello, Stiles. Your father just texted me to warn me that you are on your way. We’ve been keeping each other occupied this last hour or so,” she says, and Jackson winces.

“Heard us going out?” Danny asks, and she nods. She stands and comes close enough to pull him down, kiss his cheek.

“I’m glad you found Stiles, but we are going to discuss pack business versus leaving your parents in the dark,” she says firmly. “For now, sleep. I won’t wake you in the morning; you look like you might need a day off from school. Even though one of you already skipped a day.”

“There was a good reason.” Stiles’s voice is almost too soft, too low for Jackson to hear. He gets an arm around Stiles’s back, and tugs him toward the stairs.

“I’ll be up in a minute.” Danny stays behind, and Jackson can hear his explanation to his mom for where they were, and why.

Stiles veers down the hall toward the bathroom. “I’ll be back,” he says, and it’s not that Jackson doesn’t trust him. But Jackson does stay in the hall opposite the door, head cocked as he listens to make sure the window doesn’t slide open. When the water runs for what seems like too long, he steps across and raps his knuckles on the door.

“You all right?” he asks quietly, nodding to Mrs. Mahealani as she passes by on her way to her room.

The water twists off. “I’m fine. Just washing my face.” Stiles yanks the door open, looks from where Jackson is standing too close, to Danny’s room just beyond. “You two don’t need to hover.”

“You were giving yourself up to hunters because of Allison,” Jackson mutters. “We do need to hover.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles repeats and Jackson’s just sick of those words, because it’s obvious that Stiles _isn’t_ fine.

Jackson growls softly, crowds Stiles back against the wall. He leans against him, presses his mouth to Stiles’s throat, tastes sweat and anxiety and a quick flash of musk. He licks at exposed skin, and Stiles whines.

“Not the time.” Danny wedges a hand between them, tugs Stiles close and wraps his arms around him, hugging him hard. Jackson smells the moment that Stiles gives in, relaxes against him in a flood of relief. “We’re going to sleep now, in my bed—I’m not going to get the other mattress. And if that means you end up with both of us on top of you to keep you from sneaking out, Stiles, then that’s what you get.”

“Two hot guys lying on me in bed,” Stiles says. “Every boy’s dream.”

They manage to get themselves arranged finally, with Stiles in the middle. Jackson lies on his side, refusing to change into Kula’s fur. He wants to be human for this, wants to be able to throw his arm across Stiles’s body and feel Danny there on the other side. He falls asleep with his nose buried against the nape of Stiles’s neck, inhaling his scent.

#

Derek’s loft is full by the time they get there. The kitchen table has been pushed against the wall and is piled high with bagels and cream cheese, pastries, and various plates and napkins and silverware. The counters are littered with trays of once-hot scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausages, and bacon, and there are two open gallons of cider sitting nearby.

Cora meets them at the door and shoves them toward the food. “Eat first, and listen while eating.”

“Don’t hover,” Stiles mutters, and Jackson lightly nudges with his hip so that Stiles fills his plate first.

“Eat,” Danny says, and Stiles shoves a donut in his mouth whole and chews with his mouth open.

It’s disgusting. And somehow it still puts Jackson at ease to see Stiles snarking back.

There are folding chairs everywhere, and more in a stack against the wall. Every time someone comes in, one of Satomi’s pack pulls a chair out and offers it. Jackson spots Brett and Lori, and Hayden and Valerie, along with several other pack members that they haven’t met before. Everyone from their own scattered pack is there, along with Araya and four other members of the Calaveras family.

There’s a knock at the door and when Cora pulls it open, everyone goes silent.

Beth is at the front of the group, standing as straight and proud as Allison ever did, her chin slightly tilted. There are two men behind her—one with his hand on her shoulder—and another teenage boy. The way Beth glances back implies there might be more in the hall, out of view.

“I left someone out there, too,” Satomi says idly. “As did Araya. There will be no flanking the enemy. There will be no one who is outnumbered. We are all here in peace, packs and hunters, to deal with a much larger threat.”

Beth’s jaw is set as she strides in. “Can anyone tell me what the hell that was last night?”

“Karmic retribution for trying to take Stiles’s life,” Jackson snaps.

Beth’s smile is tight. “We weren’t taking anything he didn’t want to give. All that guilt he’s carrying, it has to go somewhere. And what about you, lizard boy? Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”

Danny’s hand touches his back, fingers sliding up to just barely brush the collar, a silent reminder to stay calm. Jackson curls one corner of his lip in a snarl. “Not to you, no.”

“ _Cállate_.” Araya’s voice is a whip of sound, cracking through the air and commanding silence in its wake. “Listen to me. These packs are allied with the Argent family.”

“And two Argents have died because of them!” Beth yells.

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that,” Chris responds darkly. “Don’t you think I know? Don’t you think that ever day, I wake up and I miss my wife, and my daughter? But I do not need you to fight my battles for me. Avenging their deaths falls to me, not you.”

“Victoria was my aunt,” Beth says quietly. “And Allison my cousin. They are also ours to avenge.”

“This is not the time,” Araya says. “We have a larger threat, and we will deal with that. Do not seek to destroy our allies. We need the packs for this.”

The smell of surprise is bright and quick. Jackson raises an eyebrow when he catches one of the Jaeger men staring at him, shrugs one shoulder.

“They’re going to fight that thing,” Beth says dubiously. “Since when do monsters fight monsters?”

“Since we aren’t monsters.” Lydia’s tone is curt. “You may look like Allison, but you are nothing like her. She believed that actions defined a person’s soul. She believed in protecting those who could not protect themselves, like the people of this town, and we follow her legacy. So if you want to do good, prove that you’re not as much of a monster as the ones you think you hunt, then sit down, shut up, and help us figure out what’s going on. Before someone innocent gets hurt.”

The other Jaegers all look to Beth, silent in their regard.

“Hunters are matriarchal,” Stiles whispers, just barely loud enough for Jackson to hear. “She might be young, but she’s their leader.”

“Emory, put the Bestiary on the table,” Beth snaps. The youngest of the Jaeger men digs into the bag he has slung across his body and he pulls out a thick book that reeks of dust and age. He turns slowly, gaze falling on the table full of food. He huffs a small sound and makes his way to the couch instead, laying the book on the coffee table as he sits down, opening it to the start.

Peter sinks onto the couch next to Emory, sets his laptop on the table as well. “We’ve gone digital.” His grin is full of teeth, and Emory sits stiffly without pulling away.

“You gave your Bestiary to the wolves?” Beth mutters, and Chris laughs.

“We’ve expanded it more since they stole it the first time,” he says. “This is a partnership,” he reiterates. “We support Beacon Hills together. Victoria died because she couldn’t see any way to accept a new world; I would have done anything I could to keep her alive. And Allison died trying to save us all. I won’t let her death be in vain.”

Lydia kneels at the other side of the coffee table, and Satomi sits next to her as Araya motions one of the Calaveras family forward. Stiles takes a step toward the researchers, stopping when Danny grips his wrist.

“What? It’s research. That’s what I’m here for.”

“I want to do something else first,” Danny says, voice low. “We all rushed over here, and I think there are some things we need to get clear, now that we’ve had breakfast and gotten the first part of the drama out of the way.”

Jackson spots Derek staring at them. “Maybe you should take this into the hall?” Because there really aren’t many other places to go in Derek’s loft.

“Fine, we’ll all go into the hall.” Danny grabs Jackson’s wrist with his free hand and tugs them both with him. “We’ll be back,” he says, letting go only long enough to slide the door open. He nudges them both through the door and pulls it shut behind them.

There are other people in the hall. Jackson can smell them, even though they’re somewhere out of sight. He curls his lip, snarls.

“We don’t need watchdogs, and everything’s fine in there. No one’s being murdered, so maybe you could just go get coffee and give us some privacy?” Stiles flicks his fingers toward the elevator, his voice light and steady even though Jackson can hear his heart going a mile a minute. “Do the decent human thing. No need to worry about me here. Two humans, one werewolf, but he’s a softie. So go.”

At the end of the hall, a door opens and there are footsteps in the stairwell. They don’t go far, but it’s an illusion of privacy at least. “They’re gone,” Jackson murmurs.

There’s a skip in Stiles’s heart, a sudden rush of sour nerves in his scent. He looks at Danny and takes a step back, ending with his back against the wall. “What’s this about?”

Danny crosses his arms, nods at Jackson. “You start,” he says.

Fuck.

Jackson licks his lips, tries to figure out how to start this conversation. “I shouldn’t have—” He stops, shakes his head. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

Stiles flinches. “Apologize to Danny. He’s the one you were cheating on.”

“I did,” Jackson says. He glances at Danny, and Danny nods, so Jackson gives in to instinct. He crowds in closer to Stiles. He touches Stiles’s cheek, nudges him where he’s refusing to meet Jackson’s eyes. “We talked about it. And you said the other night that maybe the good things are taken, and well, we are. But we also….” He stops again because he can’t do this if Stiles isn’t going to look at him. “Stiles….”

Stiles swivels his head, crosses his arms defensively. He seems to curl in on himself. “What?”

“We talked about it,” Jackson says. His heart is hammering and his hands shake when he brings them up to frame Stiles’s face. “And the thing is, I really want to do it again. And so does Danny. If we’re the good things you were looking for, then we’re in. Both of us. With you.”

Stiles’s gaze narrows. “Are you saying…?”

“Just kiss him.”

Danny’s hand on Jackson’s neck nudges him forward, and Jackson leans in, fits himself along Stiles’s body. He has to stretch up, but not as much as for Danny. Jackson tugs and Stiles meets him halfway, a slow press of lips until Stiles sways back again.

“That was—”

“Are you objecting?” Jackson cuts him off, and Stiles shakes his head quickly. Jackson crowds in closer, presses him into the wall, holds him there and growls low in his throat. There’s a rush of musk in the air, and Stiles whines as Jackson kisses his throat, licks a line up his neck to nip behind his ear.

When Stiles tilts his head to give Jackson better access to his neck, Danny claims his mouth, lingering over the kiss. Danny’s fingers are on Jackson’s neck, sliding beneath the collar to complete their circle.

“Don’t you fucking dare give yourself up again,” Jackson murmurs against Stiles’s throat. He pushes the shirt down, stretches the collar so he can find a perfect spot in the hollow of Stiles’s collarbone. He sucks a mark there as Stiles’s hips jerk. “We’re in this together, you idiot. And maybe you’re not better yet, and maybe PTSD sucks, but you’ve got us. We’re not going to let you go.”

Danny breaks the kiss, ends with his forehead against Stiles’s, fingers tugging lightly on Jackson’s collar. “Do you want this?” Danny asks, voice a little rough.

“I—” Stiles’s voice breaks. “I don’t deserve—I killed….” His hands flex at his sides, curling into fists. “You two are already… you don’t want me.”

“We want you,” Danny says firmly. “Trust me, we want you.”

“I could detail out exactly who smells like want right now,” Jackson murmurs against Stiles’s skin. “But I won’t. Do you really think I’d mark you if I wasn’t making plans to keep you? Why the hell do you think we were looking for you? Why do you think we took you home last night?”

Stiles pushes at Jackson, and he reluctantly steps back, gives Stiles the space he needs. Stiles looks between them. “Both of you,” Stiles says slowly, as if he can’t quite believe it. “Because I really don’t mind that. I don’t _deserve_ it, but if you guys want this skinny ass—”

Jackson doesn’t let him finish the sentence, just crowds in close and kisses him with a growl. His hands slide down Stiles’s back, cup that ass and squeeze lightly, just to say that yeah. He wants it. When he breaks the kiss, Stiles blinks at him.

“Yes,” Danny says. “In case that wasn’t obvious from Jackson’s possessive over-reaction.”

“Do you really think it could work?” Stiles licks his lips, smells like uncertainty.

Jackson can’t answer in the affirmative, because he’s still not sure, but he wants to try. But Danny’s voice is firm as he says, “Yes, it can work. We’ll make it work.”

Stiles pushes forward this time, shoving into Danny hard enough to knock him back across the hall, into the opposite wall before he kisses him. He has his hands tangled in Danny’s shirt, and he exhales roughly when he breaks the kiss, looks back at Jackson. “Okay, then,” Stiles says slowly. “Okay. Let’s go… let’s go get some research done.”

#

It’s a little awkward at first, the way everyone goes silent when they enter the loft. Jackson growls softly, and Cora snickers as she looks away. Malia makes a pleased little huff.

Stiles rolls his eyes, gestures at the books and laptop on the table. “We’re here for research, right?” he asks as he wedges himself into a small space in the group around the coffee table. “Let’s focus.”

Danny heads into the kitchen area to fill a fresh plate with more eggs and bacon, as Malia peels off from the crowd and pulls Jackson as far as she can get from the other people in the loft. She presses her nose to Jackson’s throat, makes another small sound as she nods. “I approve,” she says.

“But you were—”

“Holding your place, I think,” she whispers. “No one could make a romcom about Beacon Hills, because no one would ever believe how convoluted our romance is. I caught Liam kissing Hayden earlier.”

Jackson blinks. “Liam and Hayden? I thought they wanted to punch each other?”

“Apparently not.” She nods sagely, as she whispers, “And Mason still wants Brett, but Brett smells sad every time he looks at Liam, which tastes pretty awful. Lydia wants Parrish, and he acts like he’s not looking, but he’s looking. And Kira and Scott keep trying to sneak away. It’s better than a movie. I’m going to go make popcorn.” She turns away, yells out, “Derek, do you have popcorn?”

“It’s barely past breakfast,” Derek calls back. When Malia shrugs, he silently points at one of the cabinets, and Malia heads into the kitchen to start up the microwave.

Jackson heads to the bathroom and strips, returning as Kula. He pads over to Danny and curls up on the floor, head against Danny’s thigh. Danny leans in toward Stiles, offering advice in the search for information, and Jackson lets himself drift.

It’s strange to feel so crowded in the loft. The Calaveras smell resigned, but the Jaegers still smell wary. The scents of the wolf packs are starting to combine. Jackson can still pick out Satomi’s pack, identifying the scents he knows, but he also smells Mason and Brett’s scents blending, and he can find the way Hayden and Liam have started to intertwine. Malia has somehow touched everyone, and Derek’s scent is a thick bass line resonating beneath it all. He may not be an alpha, but he’s still the stability of their blended pack.

“Phoenix!” Stiles shouts, and the murmur in the room silences.

“That thing that attacked us is a phoenix? Like from Harry Potter?” Beth asks, and Stiles shakes his head.

“No, Parrish is a phoenix.” Stiles jabs at the pages of the Bestiary in front of him. “This is your book, and see, it’s right here. Reborn in flames. Can’t be harmed by fire. Can actually take in the heat caused by fire and heal damage from flames. Also can heal themselves by going through fire, or taking in fire damage from someone else. Parrish is a phoenix,” he repeats.

Parrish’s mouth is slightly open. “Huh,” he says. “I had absolutely no idea. Maybe I went into the wrong profession.”

“You probably would’ve noticed something sooner if you’d become a firefighter instead of a cop,” Clark points out. “Thinking about switching jobs now?”

“Please don’t leave my dad. He needs the help from people who know, especially supernatural creatures,” Stiles mutters. “Keep him safe.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Parrish assures him. “I like being a deputy.”

Mason, Beth, and one of the Calaveras are paging through another book, while Peter’s fingers fly across the keyboard of his laptop. Mason stops on a page and cocks his head, frowning as he looks between it and Parrish. “Are you sure he’s a phoenix? What about a dragon?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Peter snaps. “For one, dragons are a myth. For two, if they did exist, while they would have an affinity for fire, they don’t have a human form. They are purely creature.”

“Large creatures,” Mason says slowly. “Ones that roar, and actually do breathe fire. And have wings, and trample things. And might be drawn to the Nemeton.”

“Who told him about the Nemeton?” Peter asks.

“We’re one pack, Peter. Shut up.” Derek reaches past Peter, closes the laptop. He gestures at Mason. “Go on.”

“No, really, this is from the Calaveras Bestiary, and it’s really intense.” Mason spreads his hands over the page, like he needs to smooth it down. “Dragons are drawn to power. They’re huge. Not just large, but the size of a tractor-trailer. They’re not human at all. They’re incredibly instinctive, and they gravitate to places of power, like the Nemeton in Beacon Hills. It probably started heading here as soon as it woke up.”

“Dragons aren’t real,” Peter says.

“Just because you’ve never seen one doesn’t mean it’s not real,” Stiles says dryly. “Did you ever meet a nogitsune before a few months ago?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows the types of kitsune.”

“And everyone knows that dragons are real,” Araya says solemnly. “Rare, yes, but they are often found where the lines of power cross beneath the mountain ranges, where power bubbles up as a raging volcano.”

“How do we kill it?” Beth’s voice is flat. She lays a knife on the table, a blunt expression of her own power. “What’s the weakness?”

“Should we be killing a dragon?” Stiles asks. “Shouldn’t we try to talk to it first? Make sure we can’t just convince it to leave.”

“It’s not human,” Mason responds. “There’s no intellect.”

“The myth of the hyper-intelligent dragon is just that, a myth,” Araya tells him. “In truth, they are nothing more than creatures driven by need. Often solitary, and usually staying in remote locations. Your Nemeton must be powerful indeed to call it all the way here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a unique one.” Stiles rubs at his temple, and Jackson whines, nuzzling closer to him. Stiles drops his hand, tangles it in Jackson’s ruff, and holds on tight. “So you’re saying that it’s like killing a rabid animal rather than like killing a werewolf.”

“Fine,” Beth snaps, her fingers closing on the hilt of her knife. “Then how?”

Mason turns the page. “According to this, it grows in power as it claims more land. So if it’s got the Preserve, it’s getting more powerful already. And it’ll drive everything else out.”

“All the deer,” Malia says sadly.

“All the people,” Cora reminds her. “People hike there. This is going to be a problem fast.”

“If we know what we’re looking for, then we can find the answer,” Lydia says, her tone sharp. “Go through all of the bestiaries looking for any hints about dragons, even myths or legends. Stiles, take Peter’s laptop and work your magic. You’re the only person I know who has ever been able to find actual useful information about werewolves online.”

“I’ll help.” Danny reaches for Peter’s laptop, not bothering to ask his password. “Come on, Stiles. Let’s get this done.”

Jackson lifts his head, whines softly, and Stiles tugs on his fur. Jackson joins them as they find a space by the wall, all three of them curled together. The laptop is warm where they prop it on Jackson’s side as he lies down, but he doesn’t care. His head rests on Stiles’s shin, and he feels Danny’s fingers idly stroking his fur. They’ve got the research under control; for once, Jackson can be the anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look where we are! I'm excited to share this chapter with you, and I hope you've enjoyed it. Thank you so much for your comments and for being here with me. <3 to all of you. The next chapter will post tomorrow, on the 30th, and the final chapter will post on the 31st. If you want to find me, I'm [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	20. Chapter 20

They decide that they don’t dare wait.

Deaton finally makes it to the loft, and the information he can provide agrees with everything they’ve already found: if they wait, the dragon will grow in power. And if it grows in power, their chance of defeating it diminishes greatly.

As it is, there’s nothing easy about this.

“It won’t breathe great gouts of fire,” Deaton explains. “They are pinpointed, targeted at individuals or things that it sees as an irritant. Possible to dodge, yes, but at the same time, it’s very possible it will kill you if you don’t get out of the way.”

“You sound like you’ve seen one before,” Peter says idly, and Deaton glances at him.

“In Japan, yes. There are evolutionary differences in dragonkind around the globe, but they share many commonalities,” Deaton says. “You should know, Peter, that if there is a legend, then it is highly likely that there is also a truth, however hidden it may be.”

“You still haven’t told us how to kill it.” Beth has the knife in her hands, twirling it idly. Mason gives her a wide berth, and she smiles slightly at him. “Don’t worry, you’re human.”

“Yeah, well, my best friend’s a werewolf, and this is my pack, so I’m pretty sure I don’t trust you,” Mason tells her. “Maybe you should put that thing down.”

“Where is Liam?” Stiles asks, and Jackson closes his eyes because this really isn’t the time for this. He whines, puts his paw over his nose.

Malia points up. “He and Hayden snuck into Derek’s bedroom about an hour ago. It’s not like either of them was helpful here.”

“This is ridiculous.” Beth goes to stand up, stops when Derek’s hand on her shoulder holds her in place. There’s the low snick of crossbows being brought to bear, and everyone goes silent. “Let me go,” she says.

“There is no way to kill it.” Deaton steps between the three Jaegers and Beth and Derek. “What you can do is sever its tie to the Nemeton, and it will leave in search of something else to slake its hunger.”

“And how do we do that?” Stiles asks. “Because some of us would absolutely love to know how to sever a tie with the Nemeton.”

“You and Scott are a different case,” Deaton murmurs. He clears the books from the table, sets down a bag and starts methodically taking items from it. “This is purely theoretical, of course, gleaned from ancient texts. You might want to take a look at them someday, Lydia. I would be interested in your interpretation of the language.”

“Maybe after we’ve taken care of the immediate threat,” she says, although she drops to crouch next to the table. “Theoretical because dragons no longer generally encroach on cities so the lore is out of date?”

“Exactly.” Deaton places a heavy jar in the center of the table. “Of course, we’ll begin with mountain ash.”

#

The plan hinges on the fact that they have humans and wolves both, that they have supernatural creatures to bring to bear as weapons. Stiles is carrying a jar of mountain ash large enough that it makes Jackson’s skin itch, even capped as it is. They stand at the edge of the Preserve, while Jackson presses Danny back against the Jeep first, kisses him thoroughly. Danny reels Stiles in, lingers over a slow kiss before Stiles reaches out for Jackson, his expression hesitant. Jackson pushes in close, frames Stiles’s face with his and kisses him like that, while Stiles is still held by Danny, connecting the three of them.

Jackson pulls back, and Stiles licks his lips. Danny runs a finger along the line of Stiles’s collar, and Jackson smells a swift rush of musk. Jackson smirks, but it doesn’t last long before it drops away into worry. “Be careful,” he says. “Both of you. I don’t like this.”

“We’re staying around the edge, at least at first,” Danny points out. “You’re the one rushing into danger.”

“Yeah, well, you’re human.” Jackson crosses his arms, refusing to leave before he has to. He knows that there are other groups around the Preserve, other humans with jars of mountain ash and a copy of Danny’s map of the telluric currents. “It’s not going to hurt me.”

“We’re about to trap you in there with that thing,” Stiles grumbles. “I’m pretty sure your risk of getting hurt is higher than ours. If all goes according to plan, by the time we get in there, it’ll already be weakened. You have to deal with it at full strength.”

Danny pulls out his phone, brings up the GPS app with his map of the currents as an overlay. He points into the Preserve. “You need to get over there, Jackson, before we get this started.”

“Deaton said to lay down a heavy line.” Stiles twists the lid off the jar, waits while Danny retrieves two more jars from the back of the Jeep. Danny joins him, consulting his phone before pointing along a line that matches the path of telluric currents that criss-cross around the Preserve. When Stiles tilts the jar, drawing a line in the dirt where Danny tells him to, Jackson feels it. There’s a heavy scent in the air, sharp like ozone, and thick like wet loam. It rises around him and urges him to run into the Preserve, to get as far away as possible.

“It’s working,” he says, and Danny nods.

“Be safe,” Danny tells him.

“I will.” Jackson strips off his clothes, leaves them puddled on the ground as he runs away on four legs, letting Kula’s nose show him the way.

He can smell the dragon now that he has an idea what to look for. It smells old, like a musty book, or aged wood. There’s smoke beneath that, and underneath it all that same sort of wet earth of mixed power and danger that the mountain ash gives off. There’s a roar in the distance, and he knows that it feels the ash, too, that it knows that someone is here. And it’s furious.

A howl to his right, and another roar, vicious in its intensity. Jackson changes direction, howls an answer as he races through the wood. There’s no need to be silent, so he crashes through the underbrush, heedless of how he gets there as long as he gets there in time.

He bursts into a clearing where Liam, Hayden, and Brett are all partially shifted, teeth thick and claws sharp. There’s a sharp burst of flame, and Brett rolls backwards to escape, the burst of displaced air throwing him against a tree. Liam whines sharply, then looks at Hayden, and they both leap in opposite directions.

All Jackson sees is a foot coming through the trees, Hayden clinging to it as she bites down hard. Liam leaps from another tree to join her, and they both jump down before the foot retreats with another roar.

The ground shakes, and Jackson wonders if it’s the dragon landing. There’s a shuddering in the air around him, and his ears pop violently as the ground shakes again. A wave of something rolls over them, knocking them all to the ground, and Jackson can feel it then: the outside mountain ash line has been sealed. They’re trapped in the Preserve with the dragon.

“Jackson?” Brett says, his tongue sounding thick.

“Stay down,” Liam tells him, shoving at his shoulder. “Hayden help me out here. We need to get Brett somewhere safe and get his healing kicked in. Jackson, we’re supposed to be escorting Beth and her brother on the inner lines. You need to go get them.”

“We didn’t think the dragon would get riled up so quickly,” Hayden mutters. “That wasn’t in the plan.”

Jackson barks because no plan ever survives impact with the enemy. Liam must take the sound as a question, because he just points.

“They’re coming from that way. Who’s got Stiles and Danny? No wait, you can’t answer, never mind,” Liam says. “It’s not you, right? You can go get Beth?”

Jackson yips once and darts off in the direction Liam indicated. He knows that Derek and Malia are both with Stiles and Danny, because they’re the last of the humans coming into the Preserve, and they’re following the largest of the lines. It bothers Jackson not to be the one protecting them, but at the same time, it makes sense. Cora was worried that Jackson would be too personally involved, and she’s probably right.

The roar is in the distance now, as Jackson crashes down the line, seeking Beth’s scent. He turns as he spots it, finds her and her brother Emory walking the line carefully. Emory has his phone out, and a laser pointer shining at the ground, while Beth spreads mountain ash along the line.

It makes Jackson’s nose itch, and he sneezes loudly. Beth jumps, and Emory turns toward him, knife out.

Jackson shows his teeth in a grim canine smile, flashes his eyes.

Beth’s gaze narrows. “Jackson,” she says, tone flat, and he nods once. She points ahead of herself. “Stay at least six feet ahead unless you want to get trapped.”

It doesn’t matter. Jackson’s pretty sure he knows how this works, even if he’s not sure that anyone else has thought about the details closely enough. He suspects that when everything meets at the Nemeton, it’s really going to hurt to be inside that spiderweb of lines.

He hears snarling and barking, and he shivers with the need to join whoever it is, but he has to stay on track. As long as he doesn’t hear Derek or Cora howl, it’ll be fine.

He tries to sift through the sounds—Isaac and Scott, and the roar of the dragon, fainter but still angry. The scent of dead earth is rising, thickening in the air, and Jackson shakes his head. It’s almost tempting to turn back to human, snort out the air and clear his lungs.

A shout, and something crashes up through the trees. He sees the shape overhead, swears the foot he sees swinging past is smaller, then something is dropping through the branches. Jackson barks a warning, and Emory jumps out of the way just in time before Scott does a roll and comes to his feet, teeth bared and eyes flashing Alpha red.

“It’s working,” Scott snarls, “and it’s pissed off. Hurry.”

Jackson pushes himself to get close to the line, shoves into Beth’s hip in a clear indication to _hurry_. She swats at him, shoves him away and returns to laying down the line. Jackson isn’t sure it’s thick enough, hopes it’s working. He nips at her heels to keep her moving, and he can feel the oppressive weight of the borders being drawn.

Air rushing around them pushes him back, but the line stays perfectly still on the ground. Jackson hurries forward, breaks the line to see the Nemeton, and almost all the humans around it. There are thick lines of ash coming from every direction, ending at the edges of the stump. Jackson can smell Stiles and Danny nearby, but they aren’t there yet.

The dragon, however, is right overhead.

It’s definitely smaller now, more the size of a large van, with a wingspread that easily reaches out to blank out the sun from the small clearing. The wind rushes past his ears, the roar echoing inside of him. The dragon rears back, inhales roughly, and breathes.

The thin line of fire pierces through the trees. There’s a shout—Derek yelling and Danny yelling back—and the fire ends. Jackson doesn’t think, just runs, races towards the voices. Stiles is on the ground, trying to scoop mountain ash from a spilled pile, while Danny scuffs a line in the leaves and dirt.

“Just get it on this line, someone else has to have more,” Danny yells out.

“It’s not enough,” Stiles yells back. “I spilled the jar, and—oh holy shit!” He leaps backwards as another spout of fire comes at him.

Jackson tries to rush to his side, bouncing back as the mountain ash comes between him and Stiles. He turns to face the dragon, determined to distract it, but then Parrish is there. Parrish glances over shoulder, smiles at Jackson. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve got this.” He stands right in front of where the current line of ash ends, and waves his hands.

When the dragon breathes, the flame envelops Parrish completely. Parrish’s shout is elated, invigorated, and he walks forward, a burning man wreathed in flames.

“Come on,” Derek urges. He offers Danny a hand, and they get back to what they were doing before. Cora goes to help Stiles, but can’t reach him, so she stands with Jackson as they wait for Stiles to come to them.

“Get out of the way,” Stiles says. He bites his lip as he spreads the ash carefully, tries to eke out the remains. He makes it to the edge of the clearing, which is lit from above, and they all stop.

The dragon hangs in the air above the clearing, tangled in combat with a flaming creature of some kind.

“The phoenix,” Mason whispers. “Intense.”

“Does anyone have more ash?” Danny yells out, and one by one the answers are negative.

Stiles borrows from the other lines, makes his own thin line reach the stump. There’s a cry from above, a thrust of wind as the dragon and phoenix flap higher in the sky.

“I’ll make this work,” Stiles says, as he climbs atop the stump. He crouches there and reaches his hands out, fingers spread. “It worked at the club, it’ll work here. I have faith,” he mutters, like he’s trying to convince himself. “I have faith.”

Stiles closes his eyes, and a moment later, Jackson feels the _snap_ in the air. He’s thrown backwards as he sees Stiles collapse, hears the roar of anger from above. The dragon comes crashing down, the phoenix wrapped around it. A dark wolf darts forward,light shimmering brightly as it shoves through the ash barrier and pushes Stiles off the stump. Lydia’s shriek rises above all else, screaming, “Get out!”

Jackson’s ears ring painfully in the aftermath.

He comes slowly to his feet, unable to move with the web of mountain ash around them. He feels grounded, stuck, and he sees the other supernatural creatures around him looking the same.

In the center of the stump, Parrish stands naked and human, his skin burnt and charred as he bends over, hand around the long throat of a dark dragon. Wings beat feebly, it’s eyes wide, a sense of panic in the air around it. It’s only the size of the stump now, the wings spreading over the clearing but easy to avoid. “Go,” Parrish rumbles, his eyes flashing a bright orange, and in a rush of wind, the dragon is gone.

Parrish slumps to the stump. “Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.”

“How are you standing in the middle of mountain ash?” Lydia asks, voice ringing clearly in the echoing silence. “Mason, make a note that phoenixes aren’t affected by mountain ash.”

“I’m okay, Derek.” Stiles pushes to his feet, away from the black wolf that’s trying to keep him down. “I need to break the lines.”

“I’ve got it.” Mason rushes forward, runs his hands around the stump to wipe away the thin film of ash there. The shuddering in Jackson’s head lessens, but it’s still there.

“Not enough,” Liam grits out. “I feel like my head’s exploding.”

“Mason, Beth, Araya—go break the original line,” Scott says. “Stiles, Danny, get this part cleaned up.”

Jackson whines as Stiles joins Danny in the center of the circle, and together they carefully go around, breaking the lines, erasing large chunks of them. It takes time before the others reach the edges of the line and the circle around the Preserve is broken. Jackson knows when it’s done and he can inhale freely, shift back to humanity.

Danny huffs a sigh. “I’d say get dressed, but your clothes are back at the Jeep.”

Jackson reels him in, buries his face against his throat and inhales deeply. He revels in the fingers that slide down the back of his head, cradle the nape of his neck and lightly stroke the collar. At the sound of Stiles hiccuping, Danny reaches out, yanks Stiles closer and Jackson’s able to get an arm around him as well.

Someone coughs, and they break apart.

“Where did the dragon actually go?” Lydia’s looking carefully around the stump. “There’s no sign of it.”

“I’d like to think it poofed out of existence from lack of energy.” Parrish sits on the edge of the stump, his knees slightly spread, body hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. “But no, it actually shot up.” He points at the sky, then tilts his finger in one direction. “Then it headed that way, toward the mountains. I’m pretty sure it’s going home.” Lydia sits next to him, careful space between them as she looks where he points.

“What about if it hears the Nemeton again?” Malia asks, a frown furrowing her forehead. “Don’t think you it’ll come back?”

Stiles huffs a laugh. “I think we scared the shit out of it. Think about it. If you were the dragon, would you want to come back to tangle with a pack who could shut down a Nemeton, close it off from its power, scream like a banshee, and throw a phoenix at it?”

“You have a point.”

“Of course I do.”

Mason returns first, Beth and Araya returning together shortly after. They are bent close together, talking quietly, and as they enter the clearing, Beth straightens and looks at her brother. “I’ve already spoken to Dad and Uncle Nate, and we’re leaving. Just as soon as we’ve had a chance to clear out.”

“No more attacks on the supernatural elements of Beacon Hills?” Scott asks.

Beth’s expression twists in a way that makes her resemblance to Allison eerily wrong. “No. As long as these packs serve to protect Beacon Hills and all the humans within its borders, we will stay away. If we hear one word about you stepping out of line, however, we’ll be back. And we will destroy you.”

“I will be working with Chris Argent for a time, and I will meet with the Alphas and with Derek Hale,” Araya says firmly. “There will be treaties drawn for Beacon Hills, based on Allison Argent’s code. As matriarch of her line, that was her will for her family to follow. So it shall be.”

“We will abide by the treaty.” Each word is bitten off, sharp and direct. “As long as they do. Emory!” Beth snaps out her brother’s name, turns on her heel to leave.

Scott slumps in her wake. “I will never get used to how much she looks like Allison,” he mutters. Isaac nods behind him.

Stiles claps him on the back. “Me neither, buddy. Me neither.” His phone buzzes, and he looks at it, makes a face. “Nothing better at making me feel like I’m six years old than my dad texting to say that if we’re done saving the world, I need to get my ass home right now.” He glances at Jackson and Danny. “I’ll drop you guys off, if you’re ready to go.”

It’s almost like the end of a party, where everyone’s meandering around, saying their goodbyes and that they’ll see each other another day. The hunters go with the hunters, and the packs split, although not without Hayden catching Liam and kissing him until Satomi reminds her that it’s time to go.

As they walk back to the car, Danny has an arm over Jackson’s shoulder, but Stiles walks a bit away from them, idly scuffing the line every time he spots it, breaking it over and over again. “I really do need to go home,” he says. “I’d offer to let you guys come over, but I think my dad wants some us time. After the whole saving the world thing, and I think he wants to make sure he’s up to date on who’s who and what’s what, and he said something about the garage code.”

“1572,” Jackson says, and Stiles gives him a sharp look. Jackson shrugs. “Your dad told me.”

Danny slides away from Jackson, catches Stiles and pulls him into a hug, holding on for a long moment. “Just drop us off at home, and go see your dad. We’ve got all the time in the world for everything else, right?”

Stiles steps back, glances between them. “I’m still fucked up, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, well, so am I,” Jackson says. “And if I deserve this, then so do you.”

He likes the scent that’s coming off of Stiles as they get in the car. It’s light and fruity, happy. Like maybe he’s found something good.

#

They’re watching _Star Wars_ in synch with Stiles, texting back and forth in a group chat as each scene passes by. When Jackson’s phone buzzes, he glances down, expecting to see some quip about the movie.

_So, am I attractive to gay guys?_

Danny snorts, looking at his own phone. He sits up, lets Jackson go for a moment so he can text back. _Hell yes, Stilinski. But don’t go to Jungle to test that theory. You’re ours._

 _Definitely ours_ , Jackson types and then sends to the chat.

There’s a small pause, then one word comes back: _Good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all over but the coda. The big finale has passed, the boys are together, and all that's left is the final resolution scene (which yes, will post tomorrow, and yes, you will like it, I promise). Thank you all for being here, for being patient through so many words, for taking this ride with me. I'll see you tomorrow here, and in the meantime, I'll be [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Yep. NSFW. Be prepared. :)

Jackson’s still asleep, warm and wrapped around Danny in bed, when there’s a knock on the door. It creaks open as Danny sits up, one knee bent, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, Mom?”

“I was going to let you sleep, but someone’s here to see Jackson.” she says. Her lips are pressed thinly together, her sigh irritable. “Peter Hale has brought Malia.”

“Oh.” Fuck. Jackson grabs the pillow, burrows under it until Danny swats at his ass. Jackson pushes at his hand. “Fuck you, Danny, and fuck him,” Jackson mutters. “I wanted to sleep.”

“I can hear you clearly.” Peter’s voice is mild, coming from the base of the stairs. “What language! Where is your respect?”

Jackson pushes the pillow off and sits up. “You’re not that much older than me.” He doesn’t bother raising his voice. “Give us time, and we’ll be down. Malia, there are waffles in the freezer.”

A small, dry laugh from downstairs. “She’s already found them.”

Mrs. Mahealani is still in the doorway, her lips still pressed tightly together. “I know Melissa and the Sheriff have their concerns,” she says.

Danny slides out of the bed, hitches up his sweats as he walks over to meet her. He hugs her, kisses the top of her head. “We don’t trust him either,” Danny murmurs, and Jackson suspects Peter can hear him clearly. “I’ll make sure Malia and Jackson stay safe.”

“This is my family,” Jackson says firmly. “And my home.”

“I’ve got my dad!” Malia calls out from the kitchen, her words muffled.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence,” Peter says dryly. “All I want to know are the details, which I believe you now have, if Lydia’s hints are anything to go by.”

Jackson waits until Mrs. Mahealani leaves before he slips out of bed and pulls on underwear and a pair of sleep pants. He catches the shirt that Danny throws at him, raising one eyebrow when he realizes that it belongs to Stiles and must have been left here.

“You know you want to,” Danny says, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

He lifts it to his face, inhales the faint scent of Stiles that still lingers in the fabric, then pulls it over his head. He heads out, Danny behind him, and pads downstairs on bare feet. Peter leans against the bottom of the rail, and Jackson simply raises one eyebrow and walks past him, into the kitchen where Malia’s buttering a stack of waffles. There’s already an assortment of syrups on the table. She points to the stove, where a pan is ready and a carton of eggs sits nearby. “That’s your job, Jackson,” she tells him.

Danny snorts as Jackson heads over to make eggs to order. He starts with Malia, and figures he’ll leave Peter for last.

“We’re siblings,” Malia says, pushing a plate toward Danny and another toward Peter. “According to Lydia’s DNA tests, we’re full siblings, not halves, so you didn’t get two people pregnant and forget them, just one. We’re twins.” She looks over at Jackson. “That’s pretty much all I know.”

“And he’s our biological father,” Jackson points out, gesturing with the spatula.

“Well, yes, that.” Malia makes a face. “I’m keeping my dad. He still doesn’t believe that I’m a coyote, and he thinks that if I’m alone with a boy we’re having sex. And I have to sneak out if I want to go see anyone. But he’s still better than Peter.”

“Thank you so much,” Peter says dryly. “Did it ever occur to you that I haven’t planned on children? That the two of you are as much a surprise to me as I am to you?”

Jackson sits down after finishing with the eggs. “Yes,” he says seriously. He picks apart a waffle, dips it into a puddle of syrup. “You were sixteen when we were born. You weren’t thinking about a family. You were probably thinking about getting laid, and you fucked it up somehow.”

Peter’s gaze narrows. “Who is your mother?”

“Jennifer Bellman.” Jackson looks across at Malia. “Your adoptive mother is listed as your biological mother because she lost her baby when she was born. Your mother was taking care of you in the ICU after Jennifer died. My parents are listed as Maryanne and Jack Bellman—Jennifer’s parents. People jumped through a lot of hoops to hide this, not just your family.” He looks over at Peter, and he feels a little sorry for the man. He can smell the sudden wave of wistfulness and grief. “I’m guessing she had no idea who the father was.”

“I remember her,” Peter says slowly. “She was incredibly brilliant. Ash blonde hair, and witty every time she turned me down. It was like a game, where she refused to date a basketball player until he proved his intelligence, yet she invited me to keep making the attempt to impress her. Her smile was bright. Perfect. Like sunlight indoors, and I remember that I thought I was close, that we were close to done with the game. That I had a chance, and that she might want to spend time with me as much as I wanted to with her. We spent one afternoon discussing art, then she never spoke to me again. A month later, she was dead.”

“Maybe Talia didn’t know she was pregnant when she took your memory,” Danny suggests quietly. “Maybe she was trying to save you the pain of her death.”

Peter’s smile is tight and angry. “No, she knew. My children were hidden from me, and it sounds as if great pains were taken to keep them hidden. I should have known my children, and I should have had the chance to raise them. You both would have been safer with me.”

“I love my family,” Malia points out. “I loved my mother and my sister.”

“You killed them,” Peter snaps. “It could have been avoided.”

“You killed your niece,” Malia retorts.

“If we’d been with you, we would have died in the fire.” Jackson’s voice is flat, and he sees the moment that Peter works it out, knows exactly how right he is. “We were nine when that happened, and we would have been trapped. We would be dead. So when you think about it, everything worked out for the best for us. We may have had a crap route to get to this moment, but at least we’re alive.”

“We don’t expect anything from you,” Malia assures him. “Although you could go to Jackson’s lacrosse games.”

“Please don’t,” Jackson says, as Danny snorts softly.

Peter sighs tightly. “I believe I need to speak to someone about this. If you’ll excuse me.” He looks to Jackson. “Can you ensure that Malia gets home?”

“I don’t think anyone else knows anything. I really don’t think Deaton does,” Jackson tells him.

Peter’s thin smile grows. “Oh, I don’t intend to talk to Deaton. I plan to speak to Talia.”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m aware.” Peter pushes back from the table in order to stand. “That hasn’t stopped me before, and I doubt it will in the future. If you’ll excuse me.”

Jackson reaches out and grips Peter’s wrist before he can leave. He bares his teeth and lets his eyes flash, and is gratified when Peter growls in return. “Promise me that Lydia won’t be involved,” Jackson snarls.

Peter laughs, shakes off Jackson’s grip and brushes the fingerprints from his arm. “Lydia will have nothing to do with this. I have other methods. Family secrets.” He touches his finger to his lip. “Perhaps someday, when you wish to acknowledge me as something more than a reluctantly confirmed sperm donor, you will learn those secrets. But for now, please feel free to remain a Tate and a Whittemore. You seem to be happy with your lot in life.”

Jackson gets a hand over Malia’s mouth before she can respond, holds it there until the door closes and Peter is gone. She licks his palm, and he yanks his hand away to find her grinning.

“He has no idea that Cora and Derek already adopted us,” she says. “Can I eat his waffles since he didn’t even touch his food?”

“Go ahead,” Danny says, and Jackson motions with his hand. Malia empties Peter’s plate onto her own, and dunks the waffles in syrup happily.

Danny glances between Jackson and Malia, tilts his head. There’s a question in his scent, a wariness and a hint of concern. It takes a moment for Jackson to figure it out, and when he does, he flushes slightly and ducks his head. Danny touches the back of his neck lightly. “I’m going to go take a shower,” Danny says. “After we’re both ready for the day, I think we should go see Stiles.”

Malia looks up, gaze suddenly sharp.

“Right,” Jackson agrees, breath tight in his chest. “I’ll shower after you’re done.”

“Stiles,” Malia says, as soon as Danny’s gone.

Jackson licks his lips. “Stiles,” he agrees. “We’re, um….” It’s hard to say it, even knowing that she’s seen evidence of it in the last twenty-four hours. “He and Danny and I….”

“It’s okay.” Malia slices through her waffles, stabs them with her fork. “I told you, I approve. We were having sex, Jackson, that’s all. He wanted comfort, and I offered it, more than you could.” She tilts her head, raises both eyebrows. “And you were jealous the entire time. Danny thought you were angry because I’m your sister, and because you didn’t want to think about me having sex with Stiles. But you smelled like jealousy every time you got angry.”

Jackson opens his mouth, closes it again. It seems completely wrong that the coyote should have a better understanding of the relationships within their pack than he does. Or maybe it makes sense, because she’s not used to the games. She simply takes everything at face value. “You didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

“You wouldn’t have listened. And you were scared about Danny.” Malia glances at the stairs, grins. “You both smell like sex whenever Stiles is around. And he smells like sex for you, so that’s good. And you smell happy, too. He smells settled. Relaxed. I like how he smells when he’s with you guys. But you have to be good to him and keep him that way.” She jabs her fork in Jackson’s direction. “If I think you’re mistreating him, I’ll take him back.”

“I think that’s up to Stiles,” Jackson manages to say.

“True,” Malia agrees. She shoves a huge bite of waffle in her mouth, talking as she chews. “Did you give him a fear boner yet?”

Jackson feels the flush rise on his skin, hot and bright. “I am not talking about that with you, Malia.”

She shrugs, jabs at another waffle. “If you’re not going to eat, you should go get in the shower with Danny. Then you can get to Stiles faster. Maybe pick up donuts on the way since you don’t want waffles. You can get me donut holes, then drop me off.” She looks up, blinks like she’s surprised to see him still sitting there. She waves her hand at him. “Jackson. Go.”

Fine.

Jackson goes.

#

Jackson drives, pulling into the driveway behind Stiles’s Jeep to park his little shitbox of a car. He links his fingers with Danny as they walk to the door, and they stand on the stoop to wait together after Jackson rings the doorbell.

The door opens, and the Sheriff blinks.

“You said to use the front door,” Jackson points out. “I saw you were home, so I didn’t think you’d want me walking in through the garage.”

Footsteps thunder down the stairs in the background. The Sheriff smells wary, his brow furrowed as he looks at them. Running steps, then Stiles skids into the living room, arms windmilling to bring himself to an awkward halt when he sees the scene. “Dad….”

The Sheriff turns slowly, motions for Danny and Jackson to come in. “Your boyfriend and his boyfriend are here,” he says dryly.

“That’s….” Stiles stops, mouth open as he looks at them. One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Actually, that’s not all that far off from right. Come on guys, let’s go upstairs.”

“Door open,” the Sheriff says.

Danny catches up with Stiles, hooks one arm around his waist and brings him close enough to kiss. “It’s boyfriends, actually,” he says quietly. “Plural. Both of us.”

“Definitely leave the door open.” The Sheriff turns away, heading for the couch. He grabs the remote, nudges the volume on the television up a notch.

They take that as a dismissal and go.

“I uh… I cleaned up a little.” Stiles grabs things as he walks into the room, collecting clothes and tossing them into a hamper, tossing papers onto his desk. “Obviously not enough. Also, that murder board is really old. Ignore it. I obviously need a complete reset of pack status with everything that’s been going on.”

Jackson heads straight for the bed, sits on the edge and leans back. He watches as Stiles continues to nervously clean, and Danny walks around the room, examining things as if he’ll somehow learn more about Stiles.

“So.” Stiles coughs. “Boyfriends.”

“I thought we came to an agreement,” Jackson says. He lets his arms fold, goes down to lie on his elbows, legs stretched out. “You, me, and Danny. All of us. Together. Equally.”

“How does that work?” Stiles asks, turning with his hands spread out. “I mean, you two live together. You sleep together all the time. And I’m here, and well, I’m me—”

Danny wraps his arms around Stiles from behind, noses at the soft spot behind his ear. “You’re you,” Danny murmurs. “And we want you. Get used to it.”

“This isn’t a joke, right?”

Jackson can smell the apprehension coming off of Stiles in waves. He shakes his head, but Stiles keeps talking.

“I mean, this isn’t a thing where you say you’ll take my virginity to save me from the sacrifices, then you say of course you’re just joking,” Stiles says.

Danny winces. “I was an ass,” he admits. “Sorry.”

“You’re also not a virgin,” Jackson points out. “Which I unfortunately know and have spent a lot of time reminding Malia that we don’t need to share that information.”

“I’m still a virgin with _guys_ ,” Stiles reminds him. “Yes, I had sex with Malia, and no, we do not ever need to talk about that again, because the weirdness factor might send me into panic attacks if I think about it too closely. But with you guys… this is new. And a few months ago, Jackson hated my guts and Danny wouldn’t even say if he thought I was attractive, so yeah. I’m a little nervous that any minute now the two of you will go back to being exclusive and leave me out.”

“Not going to happen.” Jackson sits up, reaches his hands out. When Stiles stares at him, he curls his fingers. “C’mere, idiot.”

Danny loosens his grip, and Stiles steps forward slowly. Danny’s hands trail down his arms, settling at Stiles’s waist. Jackson reaches for his hands, clasps and tugs, until Stiles stumbles slightly, straddling Jackson’s outstretched legs.

“Asshole,” Stiles grumbles.

Jackson grins, lets go of Stiles’s hands and covers the space just below Danny’s grip, holding on to Stiles’s hips. He tugs again, and Stiles moves with him, settling in to straddle Jackson’s lap. “I wasn’t trying to trip you. This is where I wanted you. C’mere.”

He slides his hands up Stiles’s back, cradles his head and gently pulls him forward so Jackson can kiss him. Danny stands behind him, tucks his hands under the hem of Stiles’s shirt; Stiles hisses as his hands touch skin. Stiles’s head falls forward with a small whimper, and Jackson lets them lean together, forehead to forehead.

“Are you getting the point yet?” Jackson murmurs, and Stiles huffs a small laugh.

Stiles rocks his hips, and Jackson meets him with a slow roll. Jackson’s half-hard already, and he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t take much to get him harder. On the other hand, he can feel the ridge of Stiles’s erection through his sweats, and he can smell the rising musk in the room.

“Can we take off your shirt?” Danny tugs a bit at the hem, and Stiles flushes.

“I’m not exactly—”

“You know we’ve seen you before, in the locker room,” Jackson reminds him. He reaches for his own hem, yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. The TV’s still going downstairs and he’ll hear if the Sheriff decides to come up. It’s perfectly safe.

Stiles goes still, reaches out with one finger to lightly circle Jackson’s nipple, watching as it goes hard. Stiles flattens his palm against Jackson’s chest, presses over his heart and closes his eyes. Jackson knows his heart’s racing; he covers Stiles’s hand with his, inhales Stiles’s pleased scent.

“Take off my shirt.” Stiles’s voice shakes, but he raises his arms as Danny slides his shirt up. Danny doesn’t make it quick, hands gliding up Stiles’s sides. Stiles shivers, goosebumps pimpling along his skin. Jackson takes advantage of the chance to explore, traces the line of Stiles’s rib, then up the center of his chest to his collarbone. Stiles sucks in a breath, held still with his arms trapped over his head by his shirt. His hips rock against Jackson.

Jackson uses one fingertip to trace a line from collarbone to nipple, circling it and watching it puff and tighten.

“Jesus,” Stiles groans. “Danny. Damn it.” He struggles to get his arms free, and Danny smirks as he helps him get the shirt off the rest of the way.

“Do you like that?” Jackson rubs across Stiles’s nipple with his thumb, catches the fresh musk in the air, and the way Stiles’s hips shift.

“Fuck, yes. Are you guys trying to kill me?” Stiles asks.

Danny skins off his shirt, leans in behind Stiles and presses him closer to Jackson. He presses his mouth to Stiles’s ear, tugs at the earlobe. “This is nothing,” he whispers.

Stiles flexes his fingers, grabs at Jackson’s shoulders and drops his head. “Fuck. So yes. Kill me. Just go ahead and kill me. That’s fine, this is all fine, it’s good.”

The TV cuts out downstairs. Footsteps.

“The Sheriff,” Jackson whispers, and they all go still.

“I’m going out,” the Sheriff calls up the stairs. “I’ve ordered pizza—no, you don’t get to tell me what’s on it, and yes, there is one with vegetables, but I’ve also ordered two more with meat, and one white pizza. I’m going to go pick it up. It’ll probably be a half hour before I’m back, and you will keep that door open while I’m gone. I figure you boys must be hungry.”

“It’s barely lunch time,” Danny murmurs.

“Just go with it,” Jackson hisses back.

“Okay, Dad! Daddy. Daddyo,” Stiles calls back, voice cutting off when Danny pokes him in the ribs. “Nothing going on up here anyway. Just three guys. Hanging out. Might watch a movie.”

“You can do that downstairs, when you’re done hanging out,” the Sheriff says dryly. “Thirty minutes. Pizza. I expect you downstairs by then.”

The front door slams, and the Sheriff’s car starts.

Jackson frames Stiles’s face, pulls him down until Stiles is stretched out on top of him. “Thirty minutes,” he murmurs against Stiles’s lips. “Danny might take that as a challenge.”

“Hitch back on the bed.” Danny swats Jackson’s thigh. “This isn’t comfortable for all of us.”

They rearrange until Jackson’s lying on the bed with his head on Stiles’s pillow. Stiles straddles him again, stretching out atop Jackson when encouraged, and slowly starts kissing him. Danny straddles Jackson’s thighs, fitting in tight behind Stiles, and Jackson can feel the way Danny’s nudging him forward, helping Stiles rock against him. He can’t see Danny, but he tastes the groans from Stiles’s lips.

“Jesus _fuck_.” The oath drops like a bomb and Stiles arches his back, rolls his hips backwards, then rushes forward again. His erection presses down against Jackson, and it’s tempting to arch up unto the touch, rut against him until he comes.

Instead, Jackson focuses on Stiles, gets one hand around the side of his body, thumb in the perfect position to flick against his nipple as Stiles rocks again. His other hand palms Stiles’s neck, draws him back down so he can nip at his lip, kiss him deeply. “What’s Danny doing?” he whispers, and Stiles whines.

“Fuck. He’s got… he’s got his hand on my ass. In my sweats,” Stiles manages to say, stuttering on the words. “He’s kissing my back. His finger’s… oh Jesus, oh fuck.” His fingers clutch at Jackson’s as he kisses him again, like he’s trying to drown in the taste. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Jackson takes in his cries, swallows every taste that Stiles gives him. He pinches his nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugging lightly before he gently rubs to soothe. He’s rewarded with a stuttering whine, Stiles’s hips rocking harder and harder until he stops altogether and groans loudly.

The rush of musk in the air is impossible to miss, thick and wet. Jackson licks his lips, shoves at Stiles. “Lie back,” he says, and Danny helps Stiles down onto the bed, nudges his sweats down for Jackson to reveal the sticky mess.

Jackson whines as he licks at the fluid, tastes Stiles on his tongue and kisses him. He sucks a mark high on Stile’s hip bone, then laves him clean until Stiles pushes at his head.

“Sensitive,” Stiles mutters. “Quit it.”

Jackson smirks. He stretches out on Stiles’s other side, fingers tangling with Danny’s on Stiles’s chest. “Convinced?”

“Obviously you’re somehow attracted to this skinny, not at all ripped, body,” Stiles murmurs. “And you made me come in my pants. My dad’s going to notice that I’ve gotten changed.”

“Your dad obviously knew were were up to something,” Danny pats his chest. “Be on the lookout for gifts hiding boxes of condoms. Especially if your dad talks to my mom about parenting a gay kid.”

“Bi,” Stiles says. “Still bi.”

“I know.” Danny tilts Stiles’s head towards him, kisses him. “I’m just saying the gay word will probably be thrown around until your dad gets used to it. Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s the only resource he knows, and I’m gay, so….”

“There are worse gifts,” Jackson muses. “Condoms could be useful.”

“Eventually,” Stiles agrees. “Right now, I’m obviously not going to get that far since you guys made me come before I even got my pants off. I mean, honestly. Dude.”

Danny lies back next to him, one arm thrown behind his head. Jackson can still smell Danny’s arousal, can see the ridge of his cock in his jeans. His own dick aches, but Jackson’s determined that if Danny can ignore it, so can he. This is about Stiles.

Stiles’s gaze goes right to Danny’s crotch. He reaches out, lightly strokes along the ridge; Danny makes a soft sound of approval. “You guys didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes,” he says slowly.

“Then we’re going to have to be as neat as possible. Only things that can be cleaned up with a washcloth,” Danny says practically.

“And quick. We’ve got about twenty minutes left. Ten if we want Stiles to have time to take a shower after,” Jackson points out.

Stiles quickly undoes Danny’s fly, pushes his jeans down and tugs his dick out. He has his tongue tucked between his lips as he starts jerking it, slow and careful, hand rotating around the top before dropping back down.

Shit, they look good together.

Jackson slides off the bed, walks around to the other side so he gets a better view. He pulls out his own cock, starts stripping it in time with the movement of Stiles’s hand, watching avidly.

When Stiles carefully touches his tongue to the head of Danny’s cock, laps up the droplet forming there, Jackson squeezes down tight so he doesn’t come right then and there.

Stiles reaches back, grabs a bottle of lube and pumps some into his hand. He starts stroking again, faster and harder this time as Danny thrusts up into the circle of his fingers. Jackson strokes faster too, groans as he knows he’s getting close.

Stiles looks up at him, eyes wide, and licks his lips. It’s funny how that does it for him, those whiskey colored eyes and the thought of kissing him again. Jackson’s hips jerk, and his thighs go tight as he comes in streaks across Danny’s chest. There’s a low groan, and Danny joins him, spilling over Stile’s hand and his own skin.

Jackson reaches forward, slides a finger through the sticky mess, then paints it across Stiles’s chest. He can smell their joined scent on Stiles’s skin and it makes him growl as he leans forward to kiss him. He pulls him down, kneels so that the three of them can all lazily exchange kisses in the aftermath.

Finally Stiles pushes back. “I’ll go get something for you guys to clean up, then I’ll hop in the shower. Pick something to watch on the TV downstairs.”

“There is absolutely no way the Sheriff isn’t going to know sex happened,” Danny says with a laugh as Stiles leaves. “Even I can smell it.”

“I’m pretty sure it smelled like sex before we got here. Stiles—he jerks off a lot,” Jackson admits. “His room always smells like this.”

“Shut up.” Stiles throws a wet washcloth at them, but he’s grinning. He turns away and pushes his sweats off; his ass is spotted with moles that Jackson wants to map with his tongue. He doesn’t get enough time to look before Stiles has a towel around his waist and is heading to the shower. “Clean up,” Stiles yells over his shoulder. “You want to be downstairs before my dad gets back.”

It’s completely different than when Stiles went rushing out of here the other morning, when he ran away to shower rather than face Jackson after the kiss. While Jackson cleans them both up and lingers over another kiss or three with Danny, he thinks that it’s going to work out. That finally, everything is going to be okay.

#

It feels odd when they go back to school. There’s nothing heavy hanging over their heads. Stiles is bright-eyed when he meets them in the parking lot, and Danny slings an arm over Stiles’s shoulder as they walk in. There are some looks, but Jackson threads his fingers with Stiles’s and glares them down, daring them to say a word.

By the time they get to lunch, there’s buzz around the school, wondering who broke up (and hooked up) with who.

“Help me shove these tables together.” Cora grabs Jackson, positions him on the other side of the table from her. They push at it, ignoring the glares of the cafeteria monitors, to bring it in line next to their usual space. “And don’t say anything. I’m just visiting, like a wolfy show-and-tell. Malia was determined to bring me to school.”

“There aren’t a lot of good things about Peter being our father,” Malia says, dropping her lunch bag on the table. “Cora is one of them. So I’m keeping her until she has to go back.”

“When’s your flight out?” Scott asks, taking the seat on Malia’s other side. The table slowly fills in as Cora talks about her plans to stay for another week before she goes back home. Mason, Hayden, and Liam settle easily, Liam’s and Hayden’s hands linked on the table. Lydia sits with Kira, while Isaac slides in next to Scott.

Stiles arrives last and pushes Danny towards a seat. “You get the middle today.” He drops on one side of Danny, and Jackson takes the seat left on the other. He’s aware of the way Cora and Malia are absolutely ignoring them, and Liam is staring at them.

Jackson takes a peanut butter cup out of his lunch and pushes it past Danny to Stiles, who passes back a pudding cup. When Jackson leaves his hand on the table, Danny takes it, and offers his other hand to Stiles. When they’re all linked, Danny just looks at Liam. “In case you’re wondering, yes, and they really are both worth it.”

“We’ve tested. Many times, many ways. Already,” Stiles says around a mouthful of his sandwich. “It’s all good, trust me. Very functional threesome.”

“Triad,” Jackson corrects, because he’s been reading up on this and wants to get the point across that it’s not just about the sex.

“Finally.” Lydia takes out a book, lays it on the table with her phone next to it. She presses a button, sets it for speaker, and a moment later Brett’s voice answers. “Is Lori with you?” Lydia asks.

“What’s this?” Scott asks.

“Our newest problem.” She shows Scott the picture in the book. “Lori bumped into it, actually, on the outskirts of their side of town. I told Satomi we’d help them look into it.”

“She says thanks,” Brett’s voice sounds from the phone. “Meet after school to talk about it?”

“After practice,” Kira corrects. “We have some big match coming up on Friday, remember? Since our last attempt to play Devenford Prep got called on account of things exploding.”

Jackson can hear the grin in Brett’s voice. “Yeah, I remember something about that. We’ll see you after practice then. At Mary’s Diner, near Devenford Prep. Satomi said she’ll buy us dinner.”

“See you then,” Lydia says. She touches end on the phone, then looks at everyone. “What? Did you think that that,” she indicates Liam and Hayden first, then Jackson, Stiles, and Danny next, “was going to be the big news of the day? Life goes on, and we keep on dealing with the supernatural. This is Beacon Hills.”

“Dude, it’s Beacon Hills,” Danny echoes, taking his hands back so he can eat lunch.

Stiles shoots a grin over at Jackson, and Jackson smirks back. It’s Beacon Hills, definitely, and there’s no place else he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done. It has been nearly two years since I first received the prompt that started this during a charity auction. I was terrified by the prompt at first--I have a brain like swiss cheese, and I was afraid I could never weave something in and out of canon the way the first book goes. Then I realized how long it wanted to be, and the first book is the auction response; this one is all for me. This series is my long-ass love letter to Jackson Whittemore, and I am so SO happy to have been able to write this. Thank you, cynicalwerebear, for getting the ball rolling. Thank you to everyone who has been here along the way and commented, and to everyone who comes in later, having waited for things to be done. Just... thank you so much for being here. I love you all.
> 
> This is it, we're done. May this bring a smile to you at the end of the year, and may the hope give us something to look forward to in the coming year. If you want to find me, I'm [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Book two! Here we go, and yes, Jackson's life is becoming more complicated. We will be posting weekly, and remember, you can always find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) in between posts.


End file.
